The Devil's Rose, Part Three: Wisdom
by Stuart Pidasso
Summary: In part one, we were introduced to Senator Coriolanus Snow and witnessed his metamorphoses. In part two, the corruption of presidential power pushed the man over unfathomable lines, driving a wedge between him and his daughter. In part three, the man will bond with a victor, struggle to cope with a Gamemaker's mistake, and search for his successor as he struggles to save Panem.
1. The Fool

**19 The Fool**

Nervously biting his lip, Coriolanus inhaled deeply as instructed by his physician. As the doctor listened to the president's breathing, Coriolanus glanced at his worried secretary and aide standing at the foot of his bed. He forced a smile for Vera and Ashur's behalf, but he had his own worry, for he knew that _she _would be furious with him.

As the doctor began taking notes, Coriolanus looked at the white handkerchief dotted with fresh blood in his hand and assumed that his luck had run out.

When Julia stormed into Coriolanus's bedroom unannounced, her face was flush with emotion. "Everyone out," she said, gesturing to the open door. When no one moved, Julia barked, "Out!"

The president nodded for everyone to leave. As they exited, they passed the head of security, George, who stood watch in the corridor.

Julia turned to the president's security assistant quietly sitting in the corner of the bedroom. "You too."

Tiberius stood from his chair. "Sir?"

"You can go, Mr. Pullo." Coriolanus looked up at his furious friend and oddly felt comforted by Julia's presence. He smiled and said, "If I deserve to die, I want this woman to escort me from this world. Tell the others that I'm stable and that I want to rest."

"Yes, sir." When Tiberius departed, he gently closed the door behind him.

Rubbing the welling tears from her eyes, Julia glared down at her friend. "You fool!"

"I'm sorry." Coriolanus reached for her hand, but she did not approach. "My dear, it just didn't go as planned."

"My instructions were clear." Julia's hands bunched into fists as she crossed her arms. "All you had to do was to take the antidote."

Feeling exhausted, Coriolanus let his arm fall to the bed. "The drug I slipped into the wine affected his esophageal tears just as you predicted. He bled out rapidly. But the man had brought more of his friends than anticipated. What I did not expect was that everyone would turn to me—thinking that the president had magical powers to heal. With everyone asking me what to do, I was delayed in taking the antidote by a couple minutes. At least, the distraction of the dying man and me giving orders made it easy for Tiberius to remove the evidence."

Julia wiped at her eyes. "What did the doctor say about you?"

"The mucosa on my esophagus was damaged."

"How bad?"

Not wanting to answer, Coriolanus's worry unleashed a fit of coughing. The president coughed forcibly into his handkerchief as Julia rushed to his bedside. When his fit passed, he removed the handkerchief from his mouth to reveal fresh spots of blood.

Gripping her friend's hand, Julia asked, "What did the doctor say?"

"The doctor doesn't think major surgery is needed. He wants to take the conservative approach and let the mucosa-lining repair itself with medicine. Most will heal on its own; some might have to be addressed with outpatient surgery." Snow gently squeezed her hand. "Your sulfite idea worked. They are blaming his death on an anaphylactic shock due to an idiopathic sulfite reaction from the wine."

"I don't care about my success." Julia pulled her hand away. "I almost killed you."

"I almost killed me." Coriolanus patted the bed for Julia to sit before reaching out to her.

Gripping his hand, Julia hesitantly sat on the edge of the bed. "So...another enemy eliminated."

"An incompetent enemy. I wonder if the idiot even knows that he's dead." As Snow stared at his friend, a malevolent smile faintly revealed itself.

"Why didn't you just arrest him and throw him in prison for the rest of his life."

The president shrugged. "Sometimes, political activists are more dangerous behind bars. Moreover, I didn't want to bother Panem with an expensive trial. He was an embarrassment to the country."

"He was an embarrassment to you." Julia kissed her friend's hand. "You don't like liars."

"And I especially don't like liars who steal from me. I'm the best economic advisor this country has ever had. Did he really think that he could trick me?"

"You now need a new economic advisor."

"I have a new one in mind. He's a keen accountant, and more importantly, he has a wife and two kids."

Julia's brow furled. "What does a family have to do with anything?"

"Family men can be more trusted; they have more at risk."

Eyeing her friend, Julia reached for a nearby pitcher of water and began filling a glass. "You're a family man."

"I use to be, before my daughter forsook me." With a playful smile, Coriolanus returned her questioning look. "Are you saying that I can't be trusted?"

Julia passed the water glass to Snow. "No, but I know you'd do anything to protect Panem. This country is your family."

"True." Coriolanus sipped from the glass. "They told me that I missed the ending to this summer's Games."

"Hmm, consider yourself lucky. It was a frightful ending. The girl from District 2, Enobaria I believe, she ripped her final opponent's throat out with her teeth. Quite disgusting really."

"She used her teeth? I didn't even think that was humanely possible."

"I agree. It was quite savage, but I suspect that your supporters will be lining up to meet her. She should win you some favors."

Coriolanus sighed, his exhaustion evident. "I guess it's a fitting ending to the 62nd games. None of it was my cup of tea."

Her anger dissipating, Julia faintly smiled. "At least, the Games were a nice distraction to cover up an unusual death in your cabinet. The evening news never once mentioned it."

Snow reached for his friend's hand. "And I thought it would be difficult to eliminate a paranoid obsessive compulsive who had a germ phobia without raising questions."

"He was right to be paranoid." Julia's tone revealed a twisted brashness. "Just not paranoid enough. Did he open and pour the wine as I predicted?"

"Yes." Snow planted a dry kiss upon the back of Julia's hand. "He even switched the glasses as I suspected. He just didn't think that I had to gall to poison both."

"If only people knew how much you loved Panem," said Julia as she laid herself alongside the president, "they'd know how truly dangerous you are."

**...**

A couple weeks of bed rest later, Coriolanus looked up from a classic novel when there was a knock on his bedroom door. "Come in."

Antonius, Panem's defense minister, entered the president's bedroom. "Sir, you asked to see me?"

"Yes, Antonius. Thank you for coming." The president gestured to a nearby chair. "Come, sit. I want to go over the latest report regarding the districts."

When Antonius sat down, he noticed the white handkerchief spotted with blood. "Are you not well, Mr. President?"

Snow glanced down at the spots of blood. "The doctors discovered a small Mallory-Weiss tear, along with a couple tiny ulcers. Just a small stress reaction on top of my reflux, all easily treated. I should be up and ready for next Tuesday's crowning of the victor."

"Good to hear that it isn't something too serious, sir." Antonius took a second quick glance at the handkerchief. "Um, the Capitol is excited about this new victor."

Snow dabbed his lips, inspecting the handkerchief for fresh blood. "Ah yes. Her savageness seems to have sparked a fervor this year."

"I didn't realize the crowning was this Tuesday," said Antonius. "That explains why they pushed back the funeral."

Snow gave his guest a confused look. "Whose funeral?"

"Harry, your former economic advisor. Are you attending?"

"Ah right, I was distracted by the Games. I will be attending." Snow set his book aside. "Are you going to his funeral?"

"Of course," replied Antonius. "The cake and coffee at state funerals is always top notch. I'm hoping that there will be pie."

Pinching his lips, Snow stared guardedly at his defense minister.

"Mr. President," continued Antonius, "if I ever get in the way, feel free to ask me to step down."

Snow continued to stare cautiously.

"I've been your defense minister for about ten years now. I see how things work and that you demand a tight ship."

Crossing his hands in his lap, Snow raised his chin. "Some people refuse to listen to me. I need people who can listen when it is in Panem's best interest. Are you a listener?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Does this mean that we can be more direct when we discuss your reports in a more private setting, free of the other cabinet members?"

"Yes, sir," replied Antonius, crossing his legs. "I've wanted to be more forthright and blunt for the past year."

"Good. Reading between your lines in the report, I'd say we have a crisis brewing."

Antonius nodded. "Yes, sir. The population increases are putting too much strain on the Peacekeepers. With your approval, I would like to move a large number of Peacekeepers from 3, 6, 10, and 12 to districts 8 and 11. We need to ramp up our recruitment numbers."

"We can only increase the Peacekeeper budget a little. I know it won't be enough since the population growth of the districts is out pacing the Capitol."

"Food production isn't keeping pace either, sir."

Snow crossed his arms in thought. "Do you have any suggestions?"

"Forced sterilizations have been discussed before."

"No," replied the president. "It would only bring temporary relief. Besides, to make sterilizations work, we'd also need to start forced sterilizations in the Capitol to keep the economy balanced. Capitol citizens would never allow this."

Antonius leaned forward onto his knees as he lowered his voice. "We don't have to tell them."

"No." The president firmly shook his head. "This is one area we must not tread. It would be an affront to nature."

"The weight on the country is too much."

"Then the districts must bear it," said Snow. "It was their treason that led us here."

Antonius gnawed his lip. "That was over 60 years ago. None of the conspirators of that time remain alive."

"True, but we must keep a close eye on the districts. The desire to tear apart Panem has never gone away."

"Our intelligence has not gathered anything indicating an uprising."

Snow waved his finger impatiently. "No. There is a danger out there. It lurks in the shadows. The first treasonists may be long dead, but the spirit of the rebellion lives on in secret, waiting for Panem to become weak."

"You speak as if you know something." Antonius straightened in his chair. "Why not confront them?"

"Because we can't. Currently, they are ghosts in waiting, buried in tombs far from our reach." Afraid that he had said too much, Snow eyes sharpened on his defense minister. "Let us hope that they remain buried for decades to come. It is imperative that we find other ways to adjust to Panem's various fluctuations."

"Okay." Antonius nodded. "I think it best to change our defense meetings to weekly."

"Agreed," confirmed Snow.

"And perhaps our weekly meetings should remain private in natured, leaving the cabinet to their regular meetings. This way we can speak more forthright."

Snow nodded. "Yes. That would be for the best."

Rising to leave, Antonius paused. "These _ghosts_, can you tell me more?"

"If the resources of Panem continue to be stretched too thin, I may. But for now, this information can only be passed between presidents."

Slow in his response—and sounding disappointed, Antonius said, "Okay."

"Thank you, Antonius."

"Good day, Mr. President." The defense minister bowed and proceeded to the door. When he opened it, the president's trusted secretary stood in the hall, patiently waiting. "Hello, Vera," said Antonius in greeting. Stepping aside, he held the door open for the secretary to pass.

Vera stepped inside. "Hello, Antonius." When the secretary turned to Coriolanus, her face revealed a look of concern that could not be mistaken. "Mr. President."

Coriolanus sat up. "Vera, is there something wrong?"

"I have important news, Mr. President."

"Well, what is it?"

Bunching her lips, Vera turned to Antonius. "Sorry, this is private."

"No worries." Antonius stepped through the door, shutting it softly behind him.

The secretary stepped forward and sat on the edge of Coriolanus's bed, her face reddening with emotion.

Coriolanus reached out for her hand. "My friend, what's the matter? Did something bad happen?"

"No. Nothing terrible, Mr. Pres—" Vera swallowed as she sniffled back tears, steadying herself. With a smile stretching across her lips, she said, "Coriolanus, as of this morning, you are a grandfather."

**...**

When the doors opened, the president was first to exit from the hospital elevator. Vera and George next sprung out from the car, unable to catch up.

"Sir," said George, "please don't overtax yourself. You haven't fully recovered from your throat ulcers."

"I've recovered enough."

"We don't want you to get sick again," commented Vera, her high heels forcing her to take short, rapid steps.

"We're in a hospital. What better place to be if I should fall ill." Following the signs to the nursery, Coriolanus stopped in his tracks when he spotted the middle-aged woman standing before the viewing glass. Taking a deep breath, the president stepped forward. "Hello, Mary."

"Mr. President." When the nanny recognized Vera and George, she greeted them with a warm smile. "I'm glad that all of you could come."

With the excitement of a first time father, Coriolanus touched the glass and peered inside. "Which one?"

Mary pointed to the bassinet directly in front of her. Inside, a tiny baby laid sleeping, wrapped snuggly in pink.

"Ahh," swooned Vera. "Coriolanus, you have a granddaughter."

The president's face beamed with joy. "What's her name?"

"Gaia," replied Mary.

George patted the president on the back. "That's a wonder strong name."

"Yes it is," said the president, choking blissfully on his words. "Gaia Snow."

"Gaia Raphael," corrected Mary. "Your daughter's married name is now Livia Raphael."

"Right," said the president. "Vera told me of her marriage last year." The president continued to gaze down on his granddaughter. "She's perfect. How is Livia?"

"She's good," replied Mary. "There were no complications."

Vera took a picture with her smartphone. "Mary, it looks as if you have a new pupil. Are you going to be Gaia's nanny?"

Mary's smile grew. "Yes. Livia has already asked me."

Coriolanus glanced at the nanny out of the corner of his eye. "You're not her nanny; you're her grandmother. There's no beating around the bush."

Squeezing the president's arm, Vera let out a short squeal. "I can't wait to hold her."

Coriolanus laid a soft hand on Mary's shoulder. "Can I see Livia?"

The smile on the nanny's face faded, causing an awkward silence to fill the hallway. Mary glanced past the president at the two other visitors. "May we?"

"Ah yes." Vera took a step back. "George and I will be at the gift shop."

"Shall I send up your body guards, Mr. President?" asked George.

"No, George. They can remain in the lobby. I'll be down shortly."

"Very good, sir." George offered Vera his arm, and they together walked back towards the elevator.

When alone, Mary turned to the president. "She doesn't want to see you."

Coriolanus's brow furled. "Why was I then informed about my granddaughter?"

"Her husband talked her into it. He believes it's good to be exposed to one's grandparents."

With a knitted brow, Coriolanus gazed upon Gaia. "My daughter agreed to me seeing my granddaughter, but she still will not see me?"

Mary turned to the nursery, placing her hand upon the glass. "Livia says that the greatest crime one can do is to deny someone their family. She said that you'd understand."

Taking a deep breath, Coriolanus's cheeks began to flush. "She still blames me for her mother's death."

"She thinks that her mother's death was preventable." Mary turned to study the president. "Was it?"

Clenching his jaw, Coriolanus's head bowed until it nearly touched the glass. "In hindsight, yes, but at the time, no. It was complicated. I wrote Livia a letter trying to explain her mother's addiction to her prescription medicine."

"Coriolanus, even if she accepts your word, she will never forgive you for what you did to that young man and his family."

The president straightened as he gave Mary a solemn look. "That was another unfortunate occurrence."

"Are you saying that you are not responsible for sending that...goon to District 12?"

"No." Coriolanus looked away. "It is my fault, if I must confess it so."

Mary crossed her arms as she returned her gaze to Gaia. With a heavy sigh, she said, "Livia will grant you visits every Sunday if you so desire. You can send a car to have us spend the day in the president's mansion; Livia does not want you in her home. Finally, I must accompany Gaia. Will you agree to these terms?"

Coriolanus put his hand upon the glass and sighed. "Yes. And when I'm with Gaia, I promise to be a loving grandfather. I will not perform presidential duties in the presence of the child."

Mary glared at the man. "You can never stop being the president. The power has corrupted you. Even I can see it now."

"It's not a corruption of power." The president swallowed hard, the faint burn in his throat returning. "It's a sacrifice I have made to keep this country together."

Keeping her focus on the child, Mary's face became hard. "If that's the explanation that allows you to sleep at night, then so be it."

Without a reply—or saying goodbye, the sullen man took one last look at Gaia before heading for the elevators. Pulling his handkerchief from his pocket, his longing to see his daughter began to weigh on him even more.


	2. The Surrogate

**20 The Surrogate**

At the winter victor's banquet, President Snow helped his six-year-old granddaughter off her booster seat. "Come, sweetie. It's time I deliver you back to your nanny."

"Okay, papa." Gaia gleefully took hold of her grandfather's hand.

"We don't want Mary upset with me. I've already kept you past your bedtime." Coriolanus guided his granddaughter to the main steps of the banquet hall. As he neared the first step, the president glanced up to see the victor Cashmere descending the staircase, which brought him to an abrupt halt.

As the victor descended, glimpses of leg flashed from a slit on side of Cashmere's elegant red dress, the fabric hugging her athletic body. The victor, now mentor, recognized the president and smiled at both of them. With each step, her curly blonde hair bounced about her shoulders as her pearly white teeth twinkled from the many ballroom lights. Reaching bottom, Cashmere bowed and said, "Mr. President, it's an honor to meet you again."

When the young woman presented her hand, Coriolanus hesitated to take it. When he did, he found himself holding it in an old fashion manner, debating if he should plant a dry kiss upon its back. "It's a pleasure to see you again Miss..."

"Please, sir, call me Cashmere."

"Okay..., Cashmere." The president nervously touched his lips to the back of her hand.

Gaia pulled her hand free from her grandfather's grip and stepped forward. "You're pretty."

Kneeling down, Cashmere wrapped an arm around the girl. "Thank you, sweetie. What's your name?"

"Gaia."

Coriolanus cleared his throat. "Gaia is my granddaughter."

"Aren't you a doll," said Cashmere, tickling Gaia's stomach.

Free from internal filters, Gaia said, "You're Papa's favorite."

"Am I now?" With a raised brow, Cashmere looked up at the president.

Feeling his face blush, Coriolanus reached for Gaia's hand.

"Yes," continued Gaia. "What's an Amazon? Papa says that a lot too."

Cashmere pursed her lips as she straightened, futilely trying to restrain her smile. "Well, I'm not sure, but there used to be women warriors thousands of years ago that some have referred to as Amazons."

"Papa tells me that if I eat my vegetables that I'll grow up to be strong and brave like Cashmere."

The charmed victor nodded. "Vegetables are important. You need plenty of exercise too."

"I'm the fastest girl at school, and I can almost make it all the way across the monkey bars like a Career."

Cashmere smiled warmly upon the child. "I'm sure you'll make it across in no time, but you shouldn't be watching the Hunger Games."

"I don't; mommy won't let me. She won't even let anyone talk about them at home. But we talk about them at school. Oh, and Papa talks about them all the time."

"No I don't." Coriolanus patted Gaia's hand, his brow pinching together in reflective thought. "Do I?"

Gaia nodded.

"Well, it comes with the job," explained Coriolanus as he began to break out in a sweat. "I should say congratulations to you, Cashmere. Your tribute this year was quite talented and resourceful."

"Thank you, Mr. President. District One was blessed with two excellent tributes this year."

"Will you be mentoring again next year?"

"I'll volunteer to mentor again, but they can't take all of us. I'll have to wait and see."

Feeling his granddaughter's hand slip from his sweaty palm, Coriolanus reached for his handkerchief. "I better get Gaia to her nanny. She has already missed bedtime."

Cashmere waved to the little girl. "Nice meeting you, Gaia."

"Bye bye." The little girl retook her grandfather's hand and began following him up the steps.

Soon after, Coriolanus and Gaia entered the presidential library where they found Mary reading a paper book.

"Nana!" Gaia sprung forward and crawled onto Mary's lap. "Is this a real book?"

"It is," replied Mary. "But it's not a story for little ones such as you."

"What is it about?"

"This book has many short stories. The story I'm reading is about an American and his lady friend. The man has hurt his leg and needs to get home."

Gaia glanced down at the words, touching the paper gently with her fingertips. "Does he get home?"

"Kind of. He ends up in a place called Kilimanjaro." Mary glanced up at the proud grandfather and smiled."

Coriolanus gestured to the shelves. "Mary, should I find a book for you and Gaia to read?"

"Sure."

Moving to a familiar bookshelf, Coriolanus retrieved a book and delivered it to Mary.

Gaia glanced at the cover and said, "Not that one, Papa. Mommy reads Alice to me all the time."

Coriolanus looked to the nanny. "Is that true, Mary?"

The nanny nodded. "Livia still has all the old paper books you bought her when she was little."

The news brought a hopeful smile to Coriolanus. "That's good to hear." The president took back the book and retrieved a different children's classic, holding it before the nanny. "Is this one too soon?"

"No. It's a good choice." Mary took the book and held it so Gaia could read the title.

"_The Secret Garden._ What is it about Nana?"

"A garden." Mary smiled. "Should we read it together?"

"Yes," said the child, bouncing excitedly on Mary's knee.

Coriolanus leaned against the table. "How advance is Gaia's reading."

"Very."

"She has her mother's intelligence," said Coriolanus. "That's good."

"She has her mother's and grandfather's intelligence," corrected Mary as Gaia began searching for drawings scattered within the book.

"Well, I won't keep you two from your new adventure." The president calmly began excusing himself.

"Coriolanus."

"Yes?"

"Livia has asked me to relay a message." Mary paused, biting her lip. "She says that she will start seeing you again, but you have to step down as president. She's asking you not to run for reelection."

Coriolanus thought over the words in silence.

"She told me that she misses her father, but the president is not welcomed in her home."

"I can't," replied Coriolanus. "I'm already committed to next year's election."

"Is your presidency more important than your family?"

"Please don't ask me that. Many people depend on me. I wish...I wish she could understand."

"She wishes that you understood." Mary gazed upon Gaia as she forged through the book for the next drawing. "All you have to do is walk away."

Coriolanus sighed. "I would if a viable candidate who knew how to run the country came along. All I see is power hungry fools that I have to protect the country from."

Mary gave the president a stern look. "Then take one of these fools and make them your student."

"I would, but I have to find the right student, someone who has a natural understanding of leadership. When I find this person, I will gladly step down. Until then, I must continue to serve my country."

Unable to hide her disappointment, Mary hemmed as Gaia rubbed her fingers over the paper, sniffing the old book.

Not wanting to discuss it further, Coriolanus leaned forward and kissed Gaia on the forehead. "Good night, sweetie."

"Night, Papa."

Instead of heading for the sanctuary of his garden—as was custom, Coriolanus found himself returning to the victor's banquet. He returned to the president's table and requested a glass of champagne. Near the dance floor, he spotted Cashmere through the crowd, chatting with sponsors. With small sips from his glass, he watched in amazement as they circled her, her radiant smile a beacon for the lonely hearted.

"May I join you, Mr. President?"

Startled, Coriolanus looked up to see his aide, Ashur Magnus. "Oh...yes, of course. Take a seat, Ashur."

As Ashur sat, he gestured to the president's champagne glass. "It's a rare sight to see you drinking, sir. I hope it's for good reasons."

"It is." Coriolanus twisted the stem between his fingers. "It has been a fine Hunger Games this year. Remind me to compliment the Head Gamemaker." Coriolanus's eyes drifted back to Cashmere.

"I'll make a note of it, sir." Following the president's gaze, Ashur observed the woman with flowing long blonde hair. "She lights up the room, doesn't she?"

Coriolanus sipped from his glass, giving the faintest of nods.

"Isn't she your favorite victor?" asked Ashur.

The president nodded again. "No one has showed more honor and grace in the arena. Her kills were merciful, and she never let anyone suffer. If Panem ever built a replica of the Parthenon like the ancient Tennesseans did in late 19th century, her likeness would have to be the model for the Athena inside."

"Ask her for a dance?"

Shaking his head, Coriolanus returned to twisting the stem of his champagne glass. "I'm old enough to be her grandfather."

"Grandfathers dance with their granddaughters. No one would think anything more. Should I invite her to your table?"

"No," replied Coriolanus. "I'll just admire her from afar."

"Nonsense. How can you admire her if you don't talk to her?" Ashur peered over his shoulder at the woman. "I chatted with her earlier. She's quite intelligent. You'll enjoy her company."

"I'm sure I would, but I just want a quiet, uneventful evening."

"Then I'll ask her on your behalf." Ashur rose from the table and promptly headed towards Cashmere.

"Ashur, stop." Rising to his feet, the president considered going after his aide, but he found the man already halfway to the victor. _Damn him!_ thought Snow.

Desiring the sanctuary of his garden, the president headed for the stairwell. As he neared the steps, he glanced over his shoulder to see Ashur talking to Cashmere. When the victor's gaze shifted quickly from the president's table to him, the president turned and headed for the nearest set of doors through which to disappear.

Moving hurriedly through an area of crowded dining tables, Coriolanus was close to reaching a door when a woman collided into him, splashing his jacket with champagne. "Blast it!" barked Snow. "Watch where you are going."

Brushing champagne from her clothing, the woman hissed at the president.

"Did you just hiss at me?" asked Snow.

When the woman looked up, the ballroom lights revealed surgically implanted whiskers protruding from her face. The woman pointed to the wet spot on her leopard-spotted dress and growled her displeasure.

As people began to take notice of the incident, Snow could feel the heat radiate of his cheeks. He was about to chastise the woman further when he noticed something flicking behind her. "Is that a tail? Did you have a tail surgically implanted to go with those ridiculous whiskers?" Snow then looked with astonishment at the nose that had been surgically altered to appear feline. "Are you kidding me?"

The woman growled more loudly, causing some sitting in the surrounding tables to laugh.

Without thinking, Coriolanus dipped his four fingers into someone's glass and flicked water into the cat woman's face. "Bad kitty!"

Laughter erupted from the crowd, causing the cat woman to reach for a pitcher of water from a different table. Before she could douse the president, a flamboyantly dressed man dressed in a jacket of feathers stopped her. The two struggled with the pitcher as the man tried to whisper something into the cat woman's ear.

The man finally raised his voice. "Tigress, calm down! You've just spilled champagne on the president."

Coriolanus glared at the two ridiculously dressed people. "You might want to be careful, young man. With all those feathers, she might take a bite out of you."

Tigress again hissed her displeasure at the president.

Just in time, two Peacekeepers intervened, grabbing the woman by the arms to escort her away.

The head of mansion security joined them and took hold of the woman's twitching tail. Tightening his grip on the appendage, he asked, "Mr. President, would you like to press charges?"

The feather dressed man held up his hands. "I'm so sorry, Mr. President. Tigress may have gotten a little carried away with her celebrating. It has been a big day for us all."

Fuming, Snow eyed the man, studying with disdain the abundance of arm and neck tattoos.

"You see," continued the feathered man, "we're the stylists for District One."

When a low subtle grow escaped Tigress, Snow attention returned to her. "Since when did freak shows become fashionable? The Hunger Games is about honor and sacrifice, not freakish self-mutilation. I will not have it. Kitty here can be sent to a farm for all I care, she's done with the Games." Snow pointed at the male stylist. "You, if you want to continue being a stylist for the Games, cover those atrocious tattoos and start dressing like a human being."

As the two stylists stood silently—stunned, George asked a second time, "Sir, would you like to press charges?"

"No," replied Snow with a sneer. "Just give her some worm pills and send her on her way."

As the Peacekeepers escorted the two stylists from the room, the crowd appeased the president with approving laughter.

Accepting a clean cloth napkin from stranger, Coriolanus began to pat his jacket dry when he felt a hand slip around his arm. He instinctively pulled away, only to feel his arm forcefully restrained. He looked up into the smiling face of Cashmere, her strong hands pulling him back towards the center of the room.

The mentor nodded her head in the direction of the dance floor. "Someone promised me that I could dance with the president."

Unable to respond, Coriolanus allowed the young woman to lead him to the floor, his anger quickly subsiding. Reaching the center of the ballroom, the president found himself alone with Cashmere as the other dancers formed a circle around the couple.

Cashmere released the president's arm, and then bowed to the man in anticipation of being formally asked for a dance.

Like a nervous teenager, Coriolanus took a deep breath and asked, "May I have this dance?"

"I'd be honored, Mr. President." Cashmere accepted the president's hand, and the pair began move slowly around the floor.

Overcome by self-consciousness, Coriolanus waved hurriedly to those watching to continue dancing. Taking yet another calming breath, he smiled at his dance partner. "Thank you for pulling me out of there."

Cashmere nodded faintly. "Tigress's cat like antics can be infuriating. I've wanted to neuter her myself a few times."

"She is infuriating. Weren't you afraid to pull me out of the crowd?" asked Coriolanus.

"Should I have been, Mr. President?"

"Many people keep their distance; most remain standoffish." Snow looked into her vibrant blue eyes. "Some even consider me dangerous."

Cashmere placed her lips close to the president's ear and whispered, "I too am dangerous."

Snow slowly pulled back and looked upon his dance partner's growing smile.

"You're dancing with a celebrated killer," continued Cashmere. "Doesn't this worry you?"

"No, not at all," replied the president with matching grin.

Cashmere gnawed her lip briefly. "Can I assume that you've had to kill, perhaps by proxy?"

Snow's eyes flitted away.

"I cannot imagine how hard it is to be president."

Snow gave a lighthearted shrug, keeping in step with the simple dance. "Some days are harder than others, but it seems to be the job I'm best suited for."

"And victor was the job best suited for me."

Glancing over Cashmere's shoulder, Coriolanus took notice of the many looks drawn his way. "Do you find mentoring difficult?"

"Not really. The most difficult time is when the Games begin. I sometimes desire to take my tribute's place in the arena, just so I could do things correctly. The warrior inside me still thirsts for a fight. But I soon come to my senses, grateful to have my reaping days behind me."

Continuing to feel the many sets of eyes upon him, Coriolanus slowed to a stop.

"What's wrong?" asked Cashmere.

"Um...I was wondering if you would like a small tour of the mansion? I'm asking platonically, of course."

"A _platonic_ tour?" Amused, Cashmere's smile grew.

Coriolanus felt his face redden even more. "I appear to be tripping all over my words tonight. Please forgive this nervous old man. I'm grasping for words."

"I would love a tour."

"Okay, good." The president offered Cashmere his arm and escorted her from the dance floor to a nearby set of double doors. Escorting his guest through the doors into a long corridor, Coriolanus gestured to the many paintings hung on the wall. "If you have an interest in art, let me know. We can stop and view any painting that catches your eye. Many of these are older than Panem, but I must confess that they don't interest me much."

Cashmere gazed casually at the various paintings. "I'm not well versed in paintings myself."

"My specialty involves roses," said Coriolanus. "Would you like to see my indoor garden?"

Cashmere came to a stop. "Would I? They say your roses are legendary."

Unable to restrain his smile, Coriolanus shrugged sheepishly. "I don't know if they're legendary, but I'll let you decide."

In the garden, Cashmere stepped from between two rows of roses into the center of the room, her mouth falling agape. "Mr. President, this is incredible." She stepped before a set of white roses that stood out for their brightness. "It's like stepping into Wonderland."

"Those are Devil's Roses." Collecting a set of shears, Coriolanus snipped one of the white roses and began pruning away their notorious sharp thorns. "These thorns have ruined many a jacket lapel."

Accepting the rose, Cashmere sniffed the flower. "Such a wonderful scent."

"Some think the scent of the Devil's rose too strong."

"Nonsense. It's the perfect rose." Cashmere removed her corsage, salvaging the pin. "Can you help me pin it?"

Setting down the shears, Coriolanus carefully fastened the rose to the mentor's shoulder. "This was my late wife's favorite flower."

Grazing the pedals with her fingertips, Cashmere's eyes slowly met the president's. "How did she die?"

"You don't know?"

"I've heard so many rumors that I stopped listening. I figured that only you could say what truly happened."

"Strange how the truth never enters the rumor mill." Coriolanus took a seat on a stool. "She died from an accidental drug overdose."

Cashmere sat on an adjacent stool. "But?"

The president nervously licked his lips as his eyes drifted back to the white roses. "In hindsight, I should have been a better husband and addressed her addiction to prescription medicine. I am partially to blame."

"Were you fighting at the time?"

With growing admiration, Coriolanus's head tilted to the side as he continued to admire his guest. "It was a complicated time, yes."

Cashmere gazed up at a nearby wall of dark red roses. "Why didn't you ever remarry?"

"I never wanted to revisited those complicated times," replied Coriolanus.

With a knowing smile, Cashmere eyed the president. "You must have a girlfriend."

Coriolanus nervously bit his lip. "You are wise beyond your years. Has anyone told you that?"

Cashmere shrugged. "Morons usually don't become victors."

Feeling more relaxed, Coriolanus nodded with a growing smile. "Yes, I have a girlfriend. We've been seeing each other for quite some time."

"The press has never once mentioned that you have a girlfriend."

"I'm sure some in the press know of her, but they also know it's in their best interest to keep their mouths shut."

Crossing her legs, Cashmere cupped her hands over her knee. "A secret girlfriend. How delightful. I bet it makes everything more exciting, more fun."

Shyly, Coriolanus held up a cautioning hand. "I hope you don't think that I'm making advances towards you."

"I know," said Cashmere with a reassuring smile. "You've made it clear."

"It's just refreshing to have an intelligent conversation with someone."

"Do you have intelligent conversations with your girlfriend?"

"Yes," replied the president. "She's also brave and wise like you. She used to be my therapist." Coriolanus noticed how his intelligent guest eyed him—saw through him. "She was my companion; um...she used to be a prostitute."

Cashmere said nothing as her smile remained unchanged.

"God, I'm an old fool. Why did I share that?" With a nervous hand, the president wiped his brow. "I bet I'm not the first man to let down his guard in your presence?"

"I see nothing wrong with professional companionship." Cashmere stood and approached the president, laying her hand upon his arm. "You can trust me. I'll take any secret you share with me to the grave."

Silently, Coriolanus nodded his appreciation.

"She must be really special for the work relationship to evolve into something personal."

"She is." Coriolanus smiled, feeling at ease in Cashmere's presence. "Do you have someone special?"

"No. But I meet plenty of interesting people at the _meet and greets_."

"How do find those events?" asked Coriolanus. "Do the sponsors make it difficult?"

"Some victors hate it, but I don't. I prefer to think that I'm the one taking advantage of them." Brushing her hair back, Cashmere began to stroll about. "You do know about the gifts?"

Coriolanus nodded. "Yes. Since the gifts are the result of consenting behavior, I have never minded. Has anyone tried to force himself on you?"

"Once." Cashmere's eyes narrowed above sneering lips. "Long story short, I put him in the hospital."

"Who was it?"

"The twenty-something son of the CEO of the hovercraft company."

Coriolanus guffawed. "Was that when the news reported his horse riding accident?"

"Yep." Cashmere stepped before a collection of yellow roses. "He did receive a swift kick. The press got that part right in their story."

With a sincere look, Coriolanus said, "You don't have to have relations with the sponsors."

"Yes we do. We know what's expected of us. The sponsors pour money into the Games; they pay for our elegant victor's houses, even our yearly stipends. We understand what's involved."

Coriolanus rose from his stool. "They partially pay for all that. The stipends to victors come from Panem."

Cashmere strolled towards some purple roses. "I can honestly say that I don't mind. I enjoy meeting these people, visiting their eccentric houses, and witnessing weird lifestyles." The mentor bent over to sniff a flower. When she straightened, her smile had turned mischievous. "Then there are the games we play at night: the gossiping, the long massages, the hot candle wax dripped onto—"

Throwing up his hands, Coriolanus bashfully turned away.

"Sorry," said Cashmere.

"It's okay. Don't mind this old, stuffy fool." Coriolanus exhaled as he nervously straightened his jacket. "You have fun with these people, I understand."

"Most sponsors keep our dates simple. More importantly, I get what I want."

"And what is that?" asked the president.

"A night at the symphony or opera," replied Cashmere, looking earnest. "It's always worth a trip to the Capitol when a sponsor takes me out for classical music."

"Do you play?"

"A little. My mother taught me piano when I was younger. I picked it up again after becoming victor. Playing piano helped me relax after the Games, especially when my nightmares started to worsen."

"I'm sorry." Coriolanus followed his guest as she explored between two rows of roses. "Do you still suffer from nightmares?"

Cashmere came to a stop at the end of the aisle. "They are fewer."

As the pair exchanged sympathetic looks, the president gestured towards the exit. "Would you like to continue the mansion tour? There's a special room I want to show you."

Cashmere took hold of the president's arm and smiled. "I'd be delighted."

In a distant corner of the mansion, Coriolanus opened a set of double doors, which caused Cashmere's eyes to widen with delight.

"Is it real?" Cashmere sprung forward into the room, her high heels tapping loudly on the walnut hardwood flooring.

"It is," replied the president. He followed the mentor into the room. "A person comes twice a year to inspect it."

Cashmere ran her fingers along the shiny black surface. "May I?"

"Of course," replied a beaming Snow.

Cashmere sat on a black leather bench as her hands gingerly opened a long, wooden cover. Before her, lay the keys of a grand piano. "I've never played a real one. My mother taught me on cheap electronic piano that never sounded right." She pressed a key and listened with great attention to the vibrations of the strings. "Amazing. Nothing beats real strings."

"You've certainly played on a real piano before; haven't you?"

Taping out a simple classical melody, Cashmere shook her head. "Our school also had electric. True pianos are so rare in today's world." The young woman gazed upon the keys in amazement. "Once I thought I stumbled upon a true piano at a hotel bar, but it turned out to be an electric in an old wooden shell. When the sponsors take me to the symphony, I swear that the string instruments resonate through my body. Digital instruments have never done that; it just isn't the same."

"Please, play for me." Coriolanus took a seat on one of the many listening benches set about the piano room.

Clasping her hands together in her lap, Cashmere smiled bashfully. "I'm only an amateur."

"What you've just tapped out sounded wonderful. Please."

The mentor focused on the keys for a moment before deciding on a simple classical piece. Focusing on her playing, Cashmere's face transformed, replaced by that of a sincere woman who took great pleasure from the music.

Coriolanus also enjoyed the music. Closing his eyes, he reflected on the many memories resurrected by the woman sitting at the piano. He wished wholeheartedly that he could undo the many mistakes made over his lifetime. _So many mistakes_, he thought, the music washing over him.

When the piece ended, the president opened his eyes and shared a smile with his new friend. "That was magnificent. I hope you know more?"

"I do." Cashmere ran her fingers over the wood. "I surprised myself just now. This piano has inspired me."

Remembering past mansion remodeling, Coriolanus's brow arched with a thought. "You know; the mansion has a similar but smaller, baby grand piano in storage. I could have it shipped to your victor's home in District One."

Wide eyed, Cashmere almost tumbled off the bench. "You can't. I won't allow something that priceless be given to me."

Coriolanus smile turned assertive—presidential. "I can, and I will...on one condition."

Cashmere tapped at the piano keys. "Which is?"

"You have to come to the mansion at least once...no twice a month to play for me, to prove that you've been practicing on the baby grand. We can share tea here in this room."

Unable to hide her joy, Cashmere happily pursed her lips as she continued to play.

"And you have to go to the Capitol symphony with me at least once a month as my classical music advisor. You'll have a permanently assigned seat in the president's box. Does this sound like a fair trade?"

"You're quite persuasive." Cashmere's face glowed under the spot lighting. "I can see how you've remained president for so long."

"Knowing how to negotiate is one aspect of politics. Recognizing what is worth...pursuing is another." Smiling confidently, the president cupped his hands in his lap. "Do we have a deal?"

With an enthusiastic nod, Cashmere began to play a sonata.

Also pleased, Coriolanus closed his eyes and became lost in his newfound solace.


	3. The Next Chapter

**21 The Next Chapter**

"Mr. President?"

Coriolanus opened his eyes to find Cashmere staring at him from the piano. Taking a deep breath, he said, "I promise you that I wasn't sleeping. I apologize if it appeared so."

"I know. Did you enjoy the Chopin Nocturne?" asked Cashmere.

"It was beautiful. Pieces like that sometimes transport me far away. "

"Good," said Cashmere. "Music should stir one's thoughts."

"My dear, each time you visit me in the mansion, I find that you keep improving. Can you play another?" asked Coriolanus.

"Later," replied Cashmere, standing from the piano. "I would like to have a second cup of tea."

"Ah. Please, allow me to pour." Coriolanus began refilling the two cups resting on a small, circular tea table. "How do you find the leaf?"

"Very pleasant." Cashmere took her seat before lifting her teacup. "Not as bitter as last time."

Coriolanus glanced at the gift-wrapped rectangle object that lay on the table. He then looked up at his guest and smiled. "Aren't you going to open it?"

"Yes." Cashmere smiled in turn. "But first, you have to tell me why?"

"Why what?"

Cashmere set down her teacup. "We've been friends for what...three years now. You have given me a gift on this exact date three years in a row."

Without commenting, the president returned the spoon to his teacup and began stirring in a splash of milk.

"Coriolanus, did you think that I wouldn't notice?"

"I didn't think it all that important," replied the president.

"It must be important for you to request my presence on this specific day. You can tell me anything." Cashmere calmly folded her hands in her lap. "That is what friends do."

Returning the spoon to the saucer, Coriolanus inhaled deeply before meeting Cashmere's patient stare. "Today is my daughter's birthday."

The victor remained statuesque as everything became clearer. Gnawing her lip, she eyed the president and asked, "What did you do?"

"I interfered with love. I...meddled."

"A wise man like you should know better than to meddle with love." Cashmere transferred the gift from the table to her lap.

"A lesson hard learned." Coriolanus's smile faded. "I guess I wasn't all that wise when I lost her."

"You don't talk?" asked Cashmere.

"No."

"Isn't your granddaughter hers?"

"Yes, but her nanny transfers her back and forth. My daughter wants nothing to do with me. She wants me to step down from the presidency before she'll even consider speaking to me."

"But you don't want to step down?"

"I do," replied Coriolanus, "but I can't leave Panem to anyone. Panem is more fragile than what people realize. I will step down when the right person comes along." Coriolanus watched as Cashmere's fingers traced the patterns on the wrapping paper. "Aren't you going to open it? You're torturing me."

"I can tell it's a paper book, as was last year's gift. I also know that your gifts have meaning." Tapping her finger against the gift, Cashmere pressed her lips tight as she stared at her friend. "What was the meaning in last year's book?"

"With last year's book..." Sipping his tea, Coriolanus thought back. "Helen Burns. Your inner strength and spiritually remind me of her."

Recalling the story, Cashmere smiled. "Ah, I see." Merrily, she proceeded to tear the wrapping and slid the book free. Holding it under the small table lamp, she read the book's title aloud, "_The Three Musketeers_."

"It's an extremely well written adventure story. What makes the story great is the bond of friendship."

Cashmere sniffed the leather binding. "And the meaning?"

Coriolanus's smile stretched from ear to ear. "There is a woman in the story named Milady de Winter. She is brave and wise, like you."

"Is she dangerous?" asked Cashmere with a coy smile.

"Very."

"Good. I'm sure I'll enjoy this as much as last year's book."

Sipping his tea, Coriolanus brow narrowed. "Do you actually enjoy the books I give you?"

"Yes, very much so. I've read the Bronte books twice now. I truly am a fan of the classics."

The president leaned back in his chair, appearing more relaxed after Cashmere's reply. "Please let me know if I give you a book not to your liking, so I don't repeat myself."

"I will." Cashmere returned to her tea. "I hope you're not depleting your wonderful library of these books."

"The antique shops know I'm a fan of the classics in paper form. Whenever they stumble across good copies, they contact my secretary."

"Well, I truly do love the books you give me. I'm always reading on the train as I go back and forth to the Capitol to attend a sponsor's party."

Using his thumb, Coriolanus began tracing the elaborate patterns on the side of the teacup. "Aren't you tired of parties? Do you think you'll ever settle down?"

"I don't want to settle down."

"Do you want to find someone special, someone that's more than a friend?"

"No." Cashmere sipped her tea. "You're my friend, and I have music. If I have an itch that needs scratching, I'll go play with a sponsor."

"Don't you mean torture a sponsor?"

Cashmere smiled. "It's not my fault that some of them enjoy being _disciplined _by a victor."

"But do you enjoy it?" asked Coriolanus.

"I do." Cashmere's eyes narrowed, revealing her mischievous side. "You'll know when I've had too much fun when I leave a scar."

Coriolanus held up his hand. "I actually don't want to know." Reflecting on the Games—and the importance of sponsors, the president's thoughts drifted to business. "What do you think of the young victor Mr. Odair?"

"Finnick? He's pretty, but not my type. I doubt it would be any fun breaking him."

The president gave his friend a disapproving look. "I'm more concerned about his eagerness to please sponsors. He volunteers for many of the _meet and_ _greets_. He spends more time in the Capitol than you."

Shrugging, Cashmere returned to her tea. "Maybe he loves the attention. I have to admit that I sometimes get caught up the celebrity status of being a victor."

With a heavy brow, Coriolanus stared down into his cup. "Something just doesn't feel right. My people believe he's madly in love with the victor Annie Cresta."

"I've heard that rumor too."

"Then why spend so much time away from her?"

Cashmere's smirk foretold what the president was thinking. "He's probably got an itch to scratch. The Games did leave Annie incapable of taking care of herself. He probably can't have as much fun with her as he would like."

"Perhaps." The president sipped his tea.

Setting down her cup, Cashmere returned to the piano. "Coriolanus, what do you do for fun when you're not reading and tending to your roses?"

_I worry_, he thought from behind his smile. "I often gather with friends, such as you, for intelligent conversation and art. I'm always looking for the intrinsic beautify in life, and the art within."

**...**

Having gathered with his friends in the Training Center, Coriolanus studied the naked body before him. Curled up into a fetal position, a dead man lay on a shower floor, water pooled in the many folds of body fat. Long thinning hair that use to make for a bad comb over draped over the dead man's bloodied face. The president could see that the man's fingernails were bent and torn with blood clotting on the ends of his fingertips.

The president's security assistant, Tiberius, bent down and searched for a pulse. "I'm fairly certain he's dead."

"He better be," said Julia in a perturbed tone. "I poisoned him with enough tracker jacker venom to drop a horse."

Tiberius tilted his head to get a view of the man's severely scratched face. "That explains why he nearly clawed out his own eyes."

Coriolanus turned to find his friend leaning against the bathroom sink, her arms crossed. "I'm sure you were justified, but what did he do?"

"He murdered one of my girls. My best Avox. The pig choked her to death."

Coriolanus looked down on the body and sighed. "Couldn't you've waited a couple weeks until after the Games?"

"You've got plenty of Gamemakers; I'm short a floor Avox. You know my situation and the special Avoxes I need. Hell, I'll probably have to replace her with a kitchen Avox during the Games. It's hard enough running the Training Center without these pigs destroying my side business."

The president walked up to a mirror and began inspecting his beard. "And I'm going to need a new Head Gamemaker." Realizing who the next Head Gamemaker would be, the president grimaced. "Damn."

"Sir?" asked Tiberius.

"My new Head Gamemaker will be Seneca Crane. He's one of those _think outside the box_ people."

Julia approached the president and began straightening his tie. "I know him; he visits my girls every so often. He's an odd one."

"How so?" asked the president as he raised his chin, smiling when their eyes met.

"He only wants massages, real therapeutic massages. My Avoxes don't like him."

"They'd rather do the other?" asked the president.

"He likes two hour massages, sometimes longer. He says it helps him relax and brings out his creativity."

Coriolanus huffed with amusement. "His creativity is what worries me."

Tiberius gestured to the body. "Sir, what scenario should I use?"

"Use the fatal hovercraft accident while visiting a new Hunger Games arena." The president's brow knitted from a second thought. "Tiberius, have we used that one recently?"

"No, sir."

"Good. Make sure to cremate the body. We don't want his widow to see his facial scratches. Say he was so badly burned at the crash site that it was protocol to cremate the body."

"Yes, sir."

George, the head of mansion security, appeared in the doorway with a folded black body bag. "I found a trolley to help us get him to the parking garage."

Tiberius took the body bag and unfolded it next to the shower stall, unzipping it fully. When the two men each grabbed a set of limbs to transfer the dead man into the body bag, both groaned from the extreme effort it took to lift the overweight man over the lip of the shower stall.

Stretching his back, Tiberius asked, "Is this Seneca Crane a heavy man?"

Unable to restrain his amusement, the president replied with a simple, "No. He's quite slender." Offering his arm to Julia, Coriolanus asked, "Is your kitchen still open? I'm famished."

"Of course, darling." With an air of satisfaction, Julia took hold of the president's arm and followed his lead from the room. "I told the chef to begin preparing your favorite dish right after I called you."

"My dear, you spoil me," said Coriolanus. "You've actually made replacing the Head Gamemaker a trip worth taking."

**...**

In his outdoor garden, after pulling the last of the weeds, Coriolanus sat back on his heels and brushed the dirt from his hands. From his low vantage point, he gazed down the row of white roses, pleased with the pruning. He made a mental note to ask his head gardener, Mr. Croft, to check the nitrogen levels of the flowerbed that surrounded his favorite Hawthorne tree.

"Mr. President?" called out a young female.

Coriolanus rose to his feet in search of the familiar voice. Spotting Cashmere a couple hedgerows over, he waved to her with his gardening hat before wiping his sweaty brow.

Weaving through the hedgerows, Cashmere was soon greeting the president. "Coriolanus, how are you?" She leaned in to kiss the man on the cheek only to see him pull away.

"I'm filthy, my dear. I don't want you to get your beautiful dress dirty."

"Nonsense." Stepping forward, Cashmere kissed the cheek of the relenting old man. "See, my dress is fine."

The president smiled. "You're early."

"I took an earlier train from District One today. I especially did not want to be late for tonight's symphony."

The president nodded in agreement. "Haydn and..."

"Geminiani"

"Ah right. It should be a splendid night."

Cashmere inspected the president's current work. "Are all the roses that surround this tree Devil's Roses?"

"Yes. They were my wife's favorite."

"I know. You've told me."

"Ah, I suppose I have." Coriolanus looked up at the tree with a concerned look.

Observing her friend, Cashmere asked, "You didn't hate her; did you?"

Coriolanus swallowed hard under the hot sun. "No. But things were not going smoothly when she accidentally overdosed. I should have been a better husband; I should have ignored my own concerns and been more attentive to my family."

Cashmere placed a supporting hand upon his shoulder. "There is no point dwelling on the _what ifs_ and _could haves_. You know that."

"Yes," replied Coriolanus, his voice somber. "But I miss my family."

"You still have your granddaughter...and me."

Coriolanus smiled as he accepted Cashmere's hand. "How very true."

"Is Gaia still joining us tonight?"

"Yes, and Mary will also be joining us. The nanny says that my daughter has given her approval to keep Gaia overnight."

"Did you ask your daughter to join us?" asked Cashmere

"Yes, but she declined...as usual"

"I'm sorry."

Coriolanus shrugged as he returned his gaze to the tree. After a long pause, he gestured towards the trunk and said, "My wife is in that Hawthorn tree. I buried her ashes with that tree when I planted it over twenty years ago."

"If she was here, I'm sure she would be impressed with your garden."

Coriolanus smiled. "I doubt very much that she'd be praising me."

"Well, her ashes make for a majestic tree."

Coriolanus gazed up into the tree canopy. "Very little of her is actually in the tree. Trees are made of air."

Cashmere gave the president a confused look.

"The tree." The president pointed again to the Hawthorn. "Only trace nutrients absorbed from the ground make it into the trunk. The wood itself is made from the carbon absorbed from the air."

"Huh." Cashmere smiled as she gazed up at the leaves. "I assumed it fed from the soil and the sun. That is interesting."

Coriolanus's smile faded as his thoughts drifted from his wife to Julia. He turned to Cashmere. "Do you think that you've met your one true love?"

"When I was a teenager, I thought I found my true love at least once a week." Much like Coriolanus, Cashmere's face turned glum. "Now, I don't believe I ever have."

"You're still young. You have time."

Cashmere caressed a white rose before here. "Is your friend Julia your true love?"

With pressed lips, Coriolanus nodded. "Yes. But unfortunately, we have drifted apart. I too was a romantic, thinking that true love was forever, but wisdom opens one's eyes. When you stumble upon that special person, cherish the feeling as if each day is your last. Nothing is forever."

"You still love Julia?"

"Of course," replied Coriolanus, "but life has other plans for us. Our paths have split into different directions some time ago. I see it now."

Staring aimlessly at the garden, Cashmere sighed. "I don't think that I can truly love anyone. Becoming a victor changes who you are."

"Perhaps, the victor was always inside you; the Games brought it to the surface."

Cashmere turned to face the president. "I don't think so, but there is darkness in everyone. It lurks deep inside, waiting to escape once one becomes desperate enough. Becoming victor sacrifices part of your soul in exchange for a few more days of life."

"Do you regret becoming victor?" asked Coriolanus.

"No. I'm proud to be a victor and appreciate all the rewards that come from the status. Plus, I still experience the occasional adrenaline rush when I recall how I cheated death. If I had to do all over again, I would not change a thing because this is who I am. I am a victor."

_And I'm the president_, thought Snow. With a smile, he extended his elbow. "Shall we go inside so I can wash up?"

"Sure. Are we eating at the Training Center restaurant tonight?"

"Yes. Garum, the head chef, is expecting us."

"The Seneschal was lucky to find him. The man could turn mac and cheese into fine cuisine."

The president patted his friend's hand. "I agree wholeheartedly."

As the pair neared the mansion, Cashmere began to slow their pace, coming to a stop. "Coriolanus, you asked me when we first met to report any odd behavior of my suitors."

The president nodded. "Yes."

"Well, I'm going out with your finance minister tomorrow night, and I thought that you might be interested in something."

"What about him?" asked Snow.

"In the bedroom he likes to—"

"Stop." Coriolanus raised his hand as his head turned away.

"I know you don't like hearing my more personal affairs, but you might be interested in this one."

Hesitantly, Coriolanus faced his friend. "Okay. If you think it important."

"Your financial minister likes to play spy in the bedroom. It's the same game every time. He likes to have me secure him to a chair with leather restraints and interrogate him until he cannot take it anymore. He eventually surrenders to me by saying a safety word."

"What part of this should I be concerned about?" asked an uncomfortable Snow.

"It's the details. He's quite specific with the details, like calling himself a _rebel_ spy. When he resists me, he will often confess that he only knows two other rebel spies in the network—that the network was set up in a way to keep from collapsing from one security breach. He always confesses that all rebel information is passed within the network by word of mouth, never by electronic transmission."

"That is a lot of detail for just playing around." Snow licked his lips. "Does he always use the term _rebel_?"

"Yes," replied Cashmere. "Are there rebel spies?"

Coriolanus subtlety nodded his head. "We've never been able to crack their network."

"What do they want?"

"The same as everybody else. They want to be in charge."

"I see this man tomorrow. What do you want me to do?"

"Carry on as usual," said Coriolanus. "I'll tell my security assistant that this man should be watched. He'll contact you."

"Okay."

"Does this man say anything else?" asked Snow.

"No, he's quite predictable like the others. Outside the bedroom, he complains about his wife."

Gnawing his lip, the president stroked his beard. "If I remember correctly, he has children."

"Yes. He has a son...I forget the name. Oh, and a daughter named Lavinia. He can't stop raving about her."

Snow's mind raced with the new information. "If he wants to play spy, we'll oblige him." When question came to mind, the president smiled. "I can't believe that I'm going to ask, but what is his safe word?"

"It's a rebel word created during the last war." The corners of Cashmere's lips curled up into a sneer. "The word is _mockingjay._"

**...**

Days later, Julia stepped out of the shadows to join Coriolanus on the musical stage located inside the Training Center lounge. "There you are."

Coriolanus stood from behind piano and kissed Julia. "You look ravishing, my dear."

"Thank you." Julia ran her fingers over the polished wood of a grand piano. "And thank you for the wonderful piano. It sounded brilliant last night."

Tapping one of the keys, Coriolanus held it down to listen to the resonance reverberate over the stage. "It sounds terrific. Who broke it in last night?"

"We had a jazz pianist last night. He said that this was the finest piano he had ever played."

Snow stepped back to admire the gleam of the wood under the spotlights. "Good."

Julia moved next to the president and took hold of his arm. "I'm not complaining, but why did you give the Training Center this?"

"Your lounge is one of the finest establishments in all the Capitol. I want you to have the best. Electronic pianos just won't do."

"Yes, but _why_? True pianos are priceless. Does anyone make them anymore?"

Coriolanus shook his head. "The last true piano craftspeople perished in the dark days. My assistant, Ashur, eventually tracked down a classical instrument restorer in District Three. By chance, the restorer had just finished with this grand piano. I bought it for you.

"Isn't this piano similar to the one you gave away?" asked Julia in a cautious tone.

"It is similar to the one I gave to Cashmere. What are you implying?"

"Nothing." Julia released the president's arm and took a seat before the piano. "Does she play well?"

"Yes." Coriolanus joined his friend on the bench. "Her piano skills are quite good."

"Does she know that she's your daughter's surrogate?"

Coriolanus smiled. "Yes. But I would be her friend even if my daughter was on speaking terms with me. Does it bother you that I have a platonic relationship with this young woman?"

Julia began to play a simple tune. "I don't mind. You've always had an attraction to strong, independent women."

"You being the strongest and fairest of them all, my dear." Coriolanus gently leaned against Julia's shoulder.

"Flattery isn't necessary, but I do appreciate it." Julia smiled as she continued to play at the piano. "Do you want to go upstairs for a little afternoon delight?"

In a hesitant regression, Coriolanus's smile faded. "I...I can't"

Julia's playing stopped. "It's been a long while since we've been intimate. I would like to spend time with you."

Coriolanus reached for Julia's hand. "I physically can't. I find you as alluring as the first day we met, and I will always consider you the first, and only, lady of Panem, but I can't."

Gripping the president's hand firmly, Julia leaned against the man. "Is it a late effect of your poisoning? You could go to the doctor."

"Perhaps," replied Coriolanus. "But I just feel old and worn out. And to be honest, I don't miss it. Sounds crazy doesn't it?"

"No, my love, it doesn't sound crazy at all." Julia lifted the president's hand to her lips. "When I was still seeing clients, some of the older men had lost their libido. Most of them just wanted to spend their time with me talking. There was even one man who asked me to pose nude so that he could draw me. He thought drawing my figure would _inspire_ him."

"Were his drawing any good?" asked Coriolanus.

"No," replied Julia with a smile. "He could barely draw a stick figure, but he enjoyed himself."

On the piano bench, the two friends held each other in a long embrace, both realizing that their relationship had entered the next chapter.

Coriolanus cleared his throat and asked, "What would you say to George becoming the Head Peacekeeper here at the Training Center?"

With an impish smile, Julia eyed her friend. "How long have you known?"

"For quite a long time."

"Did your surveillance people tell you?"

Raising Julia's hand to his lips, Coriolanus planted a long, dry kiss. "No, my dear. They have been given strict orders not to spy on you. I've even instructed them not to spy on George, though I haven't shared this with him. You can let him know if you deem it important." The president looked squarely at his friend. "I've always known that no one man could capture your heart. It was obvious by the way you two looked at each other. It has been obvious for years."

"We've always assumed you knew," said Julia in a somber tone.

"I'm happy that my two friends have found each other. I just hope that you and I can remain _best_ friends."

"Of course, my love." With teary eyes, Julia planted a kiss on the president's cheek. "Forever."

"Forever," repeated Coriolanus, gently touching his forehead to hers.

Interrupting the solemn moment, Coriolanus's stomach betrayed his hunger, rumbling loudly across the musical stage.

Straightening, Julia smiled. "I take it that you're ready for lunch?"

"I am," replied an embarrassed Coriolanus.

Julia stood from the piano bench, offering her hand to the president. "Shall we move to restaurant? My chef would be heartbroken if he didn't get to cook for you."

Coriolanus stood. "We should invite George to join us."

As the two friends exited the lounge into the lobby, Julia said, "I'm so happy that you approve of George."

"Do you think he'll agree to the change in assignments?"

"Yes," replied Julia. "He's mentioned before that he has become bored with mansion security. Knowing George, he'll be mostly relieved to be unburdened by our secret. He thought you'd be furious."

Opening the door to the adjoining restaurant, Coriolanus said, "Age may have slowed me down, but my gained wisdom has taught me to never interfere with love."

"So, you've finally learned your lesson?" Smiling at her friend, Julia passed through the door into the restaurant.

"Yes I have," replied Coriolanus in tow. "I will never make that mistake again."


	4. The Volunteer

**22 The Volunteer**

Pulling the handkerchief from his mouth, Coriolanus found it spotted with fresh blood. He folded the cloth and dabbed his lips dry.

Presidential aide Ashur Magnus returned from across the president's sitting room with a drinking glass. "I brought you some water, sir."

"Is it cold?" asked Snow.

"No, sir. I filled it with room temperature water from the pitcher so not to irritate your throat."

Coriolanus accepted the glass. "Thank you, Ashur."

"Should I turn off the television, sir?" The aide reached for the remote.

"No." Coriolanus held up his hand. "I want to see the replays."

Ashur returned to his chair. "Sir, did that last reaping trigger your coughing fit?"

Frowning, the president hesitated to answer. "Um, perhaps."

Ashur looked up at the screen to see a replay of a man falling off an outdoor stage. "That drunkard who fell is an embarrassment to the Games. I can't believe he's a mentor, nevertheless a victor."

"Mr. Abernathy?" Snow smiled faintly. "I disagree, he's exactly who he's supposed to be."

Ashur turned to the president. "The volunteering did surprise me. I don't think I've ever seen someone volunteer in District Twelve."

"I can't recall it happening in Twelve either." Coriolanus sipped his water and then dabbed his lips with his handkerchief.

Ashur glanced up at the television to see the replay of a teenage girl pushing her younger sister behind her, emotionally volunteering to take the 12-year-old's place in the district's reaping. "I can see how that could trigger a coughing spell.

"Not that." With narrowing eyes, Coriolanus watched the replay skip forward to the moment where everyone in the town square raised three fingers in a silent salute to that teenage girl. With a shaky finger, the president pointed at the screen. "That caught me off guard."

"Didn't the announcers say that hand gesture was a district tradition?"

"They did."

"What's wrong with that?" asked Ashur.

"Nothing...and everything." The president looked to Ashur. "Call it a presidential hunch, but something significant has just occurred." Coriolanus rose to his feet, causing Ashur to do the same. "I have to go to my office. Please call Vera and tell her that I'm on my way."

Ashur began walking with the president towards the door. "Yes, sir."

"And tell her to contact my security man, Tiberius. I need to see him right away."

"Yes, sir." Ashur opened the door. "Should I walk with you in case you have another coughing fit?"

"No," replied the president with a forced smile. "It has passed."

"Very good, sir."

The president's smile evaporated as soon as he passed through the door. Stepping quickly down the corridor, the president gripped his handkerchief tighter as a cold sweat began enveloping his body.

**...**

Vera entered the president's office, setting a teacup and saucer before the president. "I've brought you some decaf tea with two teaspoons of honey."

The president looked at the cup with disdain. "I asked for your special coffee."

"Your doctor says that you can only have one cup of coffee in the morning; otherwise, it's decaf beverages for the rest of the day." With a brazen smile, Coriolanus's secretary clasped her hands together. "Tiberius should be here shortly. Anything else I can do for you, Mr. President?"

"Yes. Call Tiberius and tell him to pick me up a hot cup of coffee on the way."

"Nope." Vera's smile grew. "That would be against doctor's orders."

The president leaned back against his chair. "He can't order me about."

"No, but I can." Vera stepped towards the door. "You know what happens when you go against the advice of the women in your life."

_Don't remind me, _he thought, trying not to smile. "You know; I could have you replaced."

Under the doorframe, Vera turned with a raised eyebrow. "You won't. Who else would put up with you? You're getting ornery in your golden years."

Grunting, Coriolanus slid his teacup closer. "I wouldn't be ornery if people would just listen to me?"

"They do, but you also have to listen to your friends." Vera reached for the doorknob. "Anything else I can help you with, Mr. President?"

"Just one," replied Coriolanus. "Tell my head secretary how grateful I am to have her watching over me."

"She knows." Winking, Vera closed the door.

Minutes later, there was a knock on the president's door as Coriolanus watched replays of the reapings on his media tablet.

"Come in," said the president.

Tiberius Pullo entered the office, shutting the door behind him. He promptly moved before the president's desk. "You asked to see me Mr. President?"

"Yes, Tiberius. Take a seat." The president paused the video and turned the tablet to show his guest the frozen image.

As Tiberius sat, the security assistant squinted at the teenage girl on the media tablet. "Isn't she the one from District Twelve? She volunteered for her sister. Her name is Kitty or something."

"Katniss Everdeen is her name. I want you to do a background check. Investigate her whole family."

"You think she's part of the network?"

Reaching for his teacup, Coriolanus leaned back into his leather chair. "I don't know; maybe I'm just paranoid, but my gut tells me that there is a danger here, perhaps not her directly." Snow took a long sip of tea. "See if there is any connection between her and our friend Haymitch Abernathy."

Tiberius huffed with amusement. "I enjoyed his fall this morning. I'm shocked that Mr. Abernathy isn't dead by the amount he drinks. We believe he now suffers from alcohol delusions. We recorded him talking to the other victors about the disappearance of his family. He has told some that it happened immediately after becoming victor. He has told others that it happened a couple years after his crowning. I doubt he even knows what day it is."

"Check everything out, just in case," said the president.

"Yes, sir." Tiberius adjusted in his chair. "Should we ask your friend Cashmere to sniff around the victors this year? She was right about your financial advisor."

The president nodded in agreement. "I'll ask her. It would be prudent to see if any are acting peculiar."

"Don't you think it strange," asked Tiberius, "when someone well off risks everything, like your former financial advisor? It would be even crazier for a victor to throw their life away. What do they hope to gain?"

"I don't know. Considering man's self-destructive and selfish tendencies, I'm surprised civilization has gotten off the ground." The president focused on his tablet upon his desk until a forgotten subject came to mind. "Whatever happened to the financial advisor's daughter? I think her name was Lavinia."

"She survived Avox training and was snatched up by your friend Julia to work in the Training Center. She's quite pretty and is quite popular with Julia's more elite clientele. Julia continues to send me updates as you instructed."

"Her father knew that she'd pay the price for treason, and yet, he wanted to overthrow me."

Remembering the morning of the failed coup attempt—which had gone unnoticed by the populace, Tiberius grinned proudly. "They didn't stand a chance with such small numbers."

Snow sipped his tea and asked, "Did my advisor say anything under enhanced interrogation?"

"We were only able to get the one name out of him since their spy network is set up as need to know. When we went to the other rebel's apartment, he had already killed himself. After that, your financial advisor only repeated to my interrogators that you had to be stopped, that Panem needed a new government."

Frowning, Snow set down his tea. "I remember your reports stating that they want to stop me. Stop me from what? Stop me from keeping this country afloat on its limited and overstretched resources? Stop me from keeping the affluent cogs of this machine happy?"

Licking his thumb, Tiberius began to rub at a scuff on his designer shoes. "I think he wanted to be president."

"If he truly cared about Panem, he could have had my job," retorted Snow. "In fact, I'm ready to step down as soon as a qualified person shows up."

Tiberius did not take the bait and simply smiled at his boss. "I'll check out this Katniss girl, but I doubt there is anything to worry about. The kids from the Career Districts are all natural born killers. The odds makers predict that the boy from District Two will win this year."

"Let's hope so," said Coriolanus.

"Are you going to wager on the Games, Mr. President?"

Coriolanus shook his head. "The Games are the sacrifice that keeps this country united. The Games run through our blood; they have become whom we are. I've never thought of them as something to bet on."

"Oh." Tiberius's eyes nervously drifted down to the president's desk.

"But I have no qualms with others betting on the Games. Have you picked a winner, Tiberius?"

The security advisor looked up with a smile. "The girl from Two. Something about her tells me that no guy is safe around her."

"Since you are a betting man, how far do you think the girl from 12 will get?"

"Two days max." Tiberius rose to feet. "Mr. President, your concerns should be a thing of the past this time next week."

**...**

The next day, Coriolanus watched the twelve elegantly decorated chariots pulled by gallant horses from the president's mansion balcony as the tributes made their way around the crowded city circle. He studied each boy and girl as the chariots passed, each decorated in a district theme. But his focus—like everyone else's—remained on the teenagers from District 12.

Tightness gripped his throat, which warned of an impending coughing spell. Sipping water, Coriolanus stared with amazement at the flaming costumes of District 12, which seemed to heat up the crowd. The non-harmful flames did not concern him, for that was a simple science trick. The exceptional art direction made these kids stand out—especially the girl who had volunteered. Nothing about 12 was normal this year, and abnormality was what gave the president worry.

Having readied himself with an application from his medical inhaler, President Snow stepped up to the microphone to welcome the tributes to the 74th Hunger Games. The speech he had given dozens of times before proceeded flawlessly, but he could not stop glancing at the girl on fire, nagged with the thought that someone was about to get burned.

**...**

"The Games can't end like this. One of them has to die!" Clutching his handkerchief in his fist, Snow jumped to his feet in his presidential sitting room and glared at the television with gritted teeth. "Why is Seneca recalling the killer muttations? Why hasn't he rescinded the rule change?"

In a nearby chair, a frenzied Ashur held a smartphone to his ear. "Head Gamemaker Crane isn't answering."

Leaning nervously forward, Tiberius rubbed his thighs as he stared up at the screen. "The trumpets haven't blown. They haven't announced them as _both_ being victors."

Snow pointed to the door. "Ashur, go. Go to Game Headquarters and make sure Crane follows my orders."

"That's a couple blocks from here," said Ashur, rising to his feet.

"Then run!" Snow again pointed to the door. "And keep trying to reach him on the phone."

"Yes, sir." Ashur scurried out the door and out of sight.

Dabbing at his lips with his handkerchief, Coriolanus inspected the tiny blood spots that had been growing in size. "Never in my seventy four years have I seen a muck up like this."

On the television screen, Katniss and Peeta began to hobble towards a nearby lake. Both kids wondered openly why they had not been declared victors as declared in the midgame rule change, which claimed that victors from the same district could share the title of victor—a first for the Games.

After a quick drink of water, the young girl inspected the boy's wounded leg. She stood in search of something when she eventually discovered an arrow laying the ground.

Announcer Claudius Templesmith broke into the telecast, his voice resonating simultaneously into the area: "Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rulebook has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed. Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor."

"Finally," said the president with a sigh of relief. "Crane almost killed me with his daft trick."

His face taut with intrigue, Tiberius continued to stare at the screen as the president returned to his seat.

On the screen, Peeta commented that he was not surprised by the rescinding of the rule change and drew his knife, causing Katniss to draw her bow and take aim at his heart.

Through gritted teeth, Snow said in a near whisper, "Do it. Kill him."

Unwilling to kill one another, first Peeta and then Katniss dropped their weapons, which caused Snow to groan with disappointment. The two tributes began to argue with each other about who should be the survivor when Peeta began tearing off the bandages on his severely wounded leg. Katniss dropped to her knees, struggling with him to stop when the young man again began pleading his case.

Peeta stood, pulling Katniss to her feet. "Listen," he said, "We both know they have to have a victor. It can only be one of us. Please, take it. For me." As he went on about how he loved Katniss and what life would be without her, it became clear that the girl had stopped listening as her gaze turned downward.

"No, no, no," said Snow in a growl.

"What?" asked Tiberius.

"She's figured it out," replied Snow. "She knows how to beat Crane."

On the television screen, Katniss quickly fumbled with the pouch on her belt until it came loose. Knowing the contents, Peeta grabbed her hand to stop her. She whispered something to him, causing the boy to release his grip. Next, Katniss poured out a handful of poison berries into Peeta's palm and then into her own. "On the count of three," she said.

Peeta kissed her gently and repeated, "On the count of three." They stood back to back and locked their free hands together. "Hold them out," said Peeta. "I want everyone to see."

They held hands, the berries resting in their free and upturned palms for all of Panem to see.

Snow rose to his feet, trembling fists at his side. "Let them die. Let them die!"

Overcome by the events, Tiberius jumped to his feet. "They're bluffing. They won't kill themselves, not after fighting this hard to live."

Katniss counted out, "One."

"I don't care if they are bluffing; there cannot be two victors. I made this clear to Crane when I ordered him to undo his rule change. If he reverses it again, it will be disastrous."

"Two."

Lips twisting into a snarl, Snow swallowed, the scent of blood filling his nose. "Don't you dare, Crane."

Wide eyed, Tiberius stared at the television.

"Three," counted Katniss.

Both tributes places the poison berries into their mouths, causing the nation to hold its breath.

The frantic voice of Claudius Templesmith shouted into the area. "Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark! I give you—the tributes of District Twelve!"

Peeta and Katniss spewed out the un-chewed berries.

"Noooo!" Snow picked up his water glass from the coffee table and tossed it at the television, causing the screen to crack and distort. "Damn him!" The president next reached for a heavy leather bound book and tossed it at the television, damaging the screen further.

Stunned, Tiberius stared at the president fearfully.

With deep breaths, Snow began to grimace as the consequences of Crane's actions rushed through his head. Coriolanus reached down with a quivering hand, picking up his fallen handkerchief from the floor just in time to cover his mouth, for a coughing fit began to shake him. He fell back onto the couch as he continued to cough heavily into the fabric.

Tiberius rushed to the drink cart and poured a new glass of water. He returned to the president's side, helping him sip from the glass.

When the coughing lessened, the president removed the cloth from his mouth and found it heavily spotted with blood.

"Should I call for the doctor, sir?"

Coriolanus slowly shook his head. "It will pass," he said in a weak tone.

Defense Minister Antonius rushed into the room, stopping in his tracks when he saw the president and the handkerchief. "Sir?"

"I'll be fine." Snow swallowed. "I take it that you saw the ending?"

"Yes, sir," replied Antonius. "Tensions in the districts were rising over the past couple days. I'm already getting reports from Districts Eight and Eleven. We need to call a meeting of the defense council."

Snow looked down at his spotted handkerchief, bunching the cloth into his fist. "Tiberius, execute Crane...immediately."

Without a hint of emotion, Tiberius replied, "Yes, sir. Method of execution?"

"You decide," said Snow. "I just want him dead by morning."

Tiberius rose to his feet. "Do you want him to suffer?"

"I don't care." Staring down at his fist, Coriolanus swayed his head side to side in disbelief. "Damn him. Damn him. He has caused irreconcilable damage to this country." Snow turned to Antonius. "Do you think we can recover from this?"

Antonius took a deep breath. "It will be hard, but it is possible. Mr. President, can we risk executing Crane? He's a public figure."

Clenching his jaw, Snow gave no reply.

Tiberius straightened as he buttoned his jacket to leave. "I'll make it look like a Hovercraft accident."

"Yes, but..." Antonius's eyes shifted between the president and Tiberius. "But what if word gets out that you executed the man without a trial."

Regaining his composure, Coriolanus took a long sip from his water glass. "No one will care. Every nation from history has executed their own people without trial. Besides, the citizens are distracted by the girl on fire." Snow glanced at the distorted, flickering images on the broken television screen. "I suspect that Crane has already been forgotten. You have your orders, Mr. Pullo."

With a nod, Tiberius proceeded for the door.

"Tiberius."

The man turned. "Mr. President?"

"I agree with the hovercraft cover up," said Snow, his strength returning to his voice. "But, make sure the other Gamemakers know the truth. Make sure they know the price of not listening to me."

**...**

Receiving his cue from the television stagehand, the president turned to face his granddaughter as she held a pillow supporting a single crown. "Ready, sweetheart?"

"Yes, grandfather," replied Gaia with an anxious smile.

"Don't be nervous," said Coriolanus.

"Okay. I'll try not to be."

With a tired smile, Coriolanus stared at his granddaughter. Within her, he saw his daughter from twenty-seven years ago, back when he crowned his first victor. _ Have I really crowned that many? _he thought.

"Mr. President?" inquired the skittish stagehand.

"Ah, right. Come, sweetie." More slowly than three decades prior, President Snow climbed the short set of steps to appear on stage. Now oblivious to the crowds, the president moved before the pair of victors, his focus remaining on the girl on fire. _How many will burn because of you_, he thought. From the stage, Coriolanus could hear the confused whispers of the crowd, many wondering openly about single crown.

Turning to face his granddaughter, Snow lifted the crown for all to see, and with a simple twist, the crown separated into a pair of half-crowns sending a sigh through the audience.

Coriolanus placed a half-crown on Peeta's head and found himself smiling, for the man was still an ardent fan of victors—it wasn't their fault that he had to crown two. The president next placed the remaining crown on Katniss's head. When he met her sharp stare, Snow paused. _Are you a pawn of the underground rebellion? _he wondered. _ Perhaps you're just a brash knight with ideas of your own. Maybe someone is using you, some malevolent King or Queen? Or perhaps, you're just a girl who might unintentionally turn the world to ashes._


	5. The Visit

**23 The Visit**

With the assistance of Tiberius, Coriolanus stepped down from the train onto the icy train platform, a leather bound book firmly gripped in his other hand.

Tiberius gestured to the waiting presidential limousine. "Welcome to District Twelve, Mr. President. Your car is ready."

Coriolanus glanced with narrowing eyes at the bleak surroundings. The buildings adjacent to the train station were grey, their painted exteriors faded and chipped, making the structures to stick out like sore thumbs amongst the fresh snow. The lack of traffic gave the district an uncomfortable silence, which was unfamiliar to Coriolanus. Turning in a slow circle, the president found the bare trees on surrounding hills unfriendly and unwelcoming. He entered the limousine and promptly returned to his book, to a world more pleasing.

When the car reached its destination, Tiberius promptly exited and proceeded to open the president's door as other security agents exited a second car.

Coriolanus exited and began examining the Victor's Village surroundings with narrow, snow-blind eyes.

Tiberius shut the car door. "The snow gives this place a haunted look."

The president hemmed as he continued to look about without commenting.

"I've never been here in the summer, but the Head Peacekeeper tells me that the forests fill out nicely and that it's not too bad of a place to be stationed, except for the Seam."

The president listened to the howling winter air as it swirled around the sharp edges of the mostly vacant Victor's Village houses. Bunching up his collar, he headed for the Everdeen home. "This district has the basics for a comfortable life, like all the others. If the rebels have infiltrated here, what more could the rebels offer these people? What do they hope to gain by disrupting the system?"

"Sir, perhaps they want what the Capitol has. Maybe they want more money."

Staring up at the maintained victor's house, the president frowned. "Money doesn't buy happiness. I should know. It's the immortal lesson that's never learned."

"Maybe they want more freedom," commented Tiberius.

"No one is free when there is a society of people. Societies demand work, and we are all bound by it. Even I'm bound to my presidency. The only true freedom in this world comes from death." Snow turned to security aide. "Tiberius, has there been any further news about our young victor?"

"No, sir."

"Did your people ever witness a second kiss? Any other suitors?"

"No, sir. She has mostly kept to herself and to her immediate family. She often visits the black market, but she doesn't linger."

Gnawing his lip, Coriolanus began ascending the steps to the front door.

Tiberius promptly followed. "Sir, I sense that you don't like this victor?"

"You may be surprised, Tiberius, but I do like her. For a country girl, she has class. She's resourceful and a survivalist." At the top, the president paused to gaze upon the other victor's homes. "I just hope she doesn't need to be dealt with."

Nodding in agreement, Tiberius knocked on the door.

Within a few seconds, approaching footsteps were heard and the door opened, revealing Katniss's mother. Her eyes quickly scanned Tiberius. When she gazed upon the president, he mouth fell agape.

"Mrs. Everdeen, I presume?" asked Tiberius.

"Yes," she replied, her eyes remaining locked on the president, who politely smiled back at her.

Tiberius gestured with one hand towards his superior. "The president would like to have a word with your daughter."

Nervously, Mrs. Everdeen pulled her gaze from the president and addressed Tiberius. "Um, my daughter went out for a walk this morning. She…may have gone shopping."

"When do you expect her return?" asked Tiberius.

"She should be back soon," replied Mrs. Everdeen, her face turning pale as her eyes shifted back and forth between the two men. "Please forgive me and come out of the cold. You can wait for her in our home." The woman opened the front door fully.

The president stepped inside with a gracious smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Everdeen." Coriolanus extended his hand.

The woman nervously shook it, instinctively curtsying. "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. President."

Tiberius bent over and began unlacing his shoes.

"Please leave your shoes on," said Mrs. Everdeen, "both of you. This victor's house is nicer than anything we could imagine, but the floors are cold on the feet in winter. In addition, we somehow track in a little coal dust. Your socks will only get dirty."

"How very kind of you." Coriolanus looked down and found the woman's feet shoeless with socks stained grey.

"Um, I just don't want to inconvenience you, Mr. President." Katniss's mother clasped her hands together to stop herself from fidgeting. "You can wait for her where ever you like. The living room is just over there."

Glancing over his shoulder, Coriolanus thought the room too dark despite the morning sunlight. "Do you have a brighter room, somewhere more private where I could speak to your daughter when she returns home?"

"The study down the hall has good lighting and has a comfortable desk. My other daughter, Prim, does her homework in there. I'm afraid that I don't know exactly when Katniss may return."

"No matter." The president held up his book and smiled. "I've brought a good book, so the time won't be wasted."

Mrs. Everdeen squinted at the title on the cover. "_Wuthering Heights_. Is that a classic?"

"It is." Coriolanus smiled. "Have you read it?"

"I plan to someday," said Mrs. Everdeen. "I'm currently on a Mark Twain fetish."

"Brilliant man, Mr. Twain. I found his essays very thought provoking." Coriolanus pointed down the hall. "The study is this way?"

"Yes, Mr. President."

"Thank you. Tiberius, send the victor in to see me when she arrives."

"Yes, sir."

When the president entered the study, he paused to survey the room and found the morning light good for reading. He next strolled around the desk on his way to a cushioned chair but stopped before a window to further study the landscape. The man preferred the city landscape and found that he missed the sounds of the busy metropolis. The bare trees with fresh snow only reminded him of a graveyard—and his book. With the morning sunlight to guide his way, Coriolanus remained at the window and blissfully returned to his story.

Minutes later, still engaged in his book before the window, Coriolanus eyes briefly shifted off the page when he heard many footsteps approaching the door to the study.

From the hallway, Katniss's voice passed through the door as she said, "Probably more instructions for the tour."

The footsteps stopped outside the door, and Tiberius was heard saying, "Go right in."

Despite the arrival of his guest, Coriolanus read on, needing to know if Heathcliff truly had violated Cathy's grave. He raised his finger with the intent of finishing the page and said, "Give me a moment." Soon after, with his mental thirst subsided, the president reinserted his bookmark and turned to the young lady.

Katniss stood frozen, as if standing before a venomous snake. With fear evident in her eyes, she kept her composure—and her silence.

Amused by her reaction, the president decided to skip the niceties. "I think we'll make this whole situation a lot simpler by agreeing not to lie to each other." Snow exhaled slowly. "What do you think?"

Swallowing, Katniss lifted her chin and said, "Yes, I think that would save time."

President Snow smiled, relieved that he could be straightforward with this girl. "My advisors were concerned you would be difficult, but you're not planning on being difficult, are you?"

"No," replied Katniss.

"That's what I told them. I said any girl who goes to such lengths to preserve her life isn't going to be interested in throwing it away with both hands. And then there's her family to think of. Her mother, her sister, and all those…cousins." Snow lingered on the last word to indicate that he had not been fooled by the false family connection.

Katniss's posture relaxed as if unburdened by the lie.

"Let's sit." President Snow took a seat at the large desk of polished wood.

Sitting in one of the carved, straight-backed chairs, Katniss's toes struggle to touch the floor.

"I have a problem, Miss Everdeen," said the president. "A problem that began the moment you pulled out those poisonous berries in the arena."

Katniss's eyes remained focused on the president, her breathing barely noticeable.

"If the Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane, had had any brains, he'd have blown you to dust right then. But he had an unfortunate sentimental streak. So here you are." Snow leaned back against his chair. "Can you guess where he is?"

Nodding, Katniss's eyes shifted to the Devil's Rose in Snow's lapel. Her nose wrinkled as if repelled by the flower's fresh scent.

"After that," continued Snow, "there was nothing to do but let you play out your little scenario. And you were pretty good, too, with the love-crazed schoolgirl bit. The people in the Capitol were quite convinced." The president's face turned scowling. "Unfortunately, not everyone in the districts fell for your act."

Katniss's expression turned to one of bewilderment.

"This, of course, you don't know. You have no access to information about the mood in other districts. In several of them, however, people viewed your little trick with the berries as an act of defiance, not an act of love. And if a girl from District Twelve of all places can defy the Capitol and walk away unharmed, what is to stop them from doing the same?" The president subconsciously licked his lips. "What is to prevent, say, an uprising?"

It took a moment for the last sentence to sink in, but the full weight of the president's words seemed to register with the young girl. "There have been uprisings?" she asked, her tone heightened.

"Not yet. But they'll follow if the course of things doesn't change. And uprisings have been known to lead to revolution." Feeling a headache coming on, President Snow began to rub the spot over his left eyebrow. "Do you have any idea what that would mean? How many people would die? What conditions those left would have to face? Whatever problems anyone may have with the Capitol, believe me when I say that if it released its grip on the districts for even a short time, the entire system would collapse."

The girl appeared taken aback by the president's directness—and even the sincerity of his speech. Her hands began to fidget at the edges of her chair. "It must be very fragile, if a handful of berries can bring it down."

The president paused to study the victor and her body language. He wondered silently,_ Little girl, do you really comprehend what's happening?_ "It is fragile, but not in the way that you suppose."

There was a knock on the door, and Tiberius stuck in his head. "Her mother wants to know if you want tea."

"I would. I would like tea," said the president.

The door opened wider to reveal Katniss's mother with a tray adorned with an antique china tea set of exalted beauty.

"Set it here, please." Patting the center of the desk, Coriolanus slid his book to the side.

Katniss's mother set down the tray consisting of a china teapot with cups and saucers, cream and sugar, and a plate of cookies exquisitely iced with soft colored flowers.

Studying the detailed frosting, the president assumed the work to be Peeta's. He presented a grateful smile to the mother. "What a welcome sight. You know, it's funny how often people forget that presidents need to eat, too."

Katniss's mother smiled, appearing more relaxed. "Can I get you anything else? I can cook something more substantial if you're hungry?"

"No, this could not be more perfect. Thank you," replied Snow, dismissing her as politely as possible.

The mother nodded, shot Katniss a glance, and then exited the room.

Admiring the teapot, President Snow poured tea into the two cups. Adding cream and sugar to his own, he began stirring with a spoon in which the fine details had been polished out of the handle many years ago. He took his time, waiting for Katniss to respond, to reveal how much she truly understood.

"I didn't mean to start any uprisings," she said.

"I believe you," replied the president. "It doesn't matter. Your stylist turned out to be prophetic in his wardrobe choice." The president returned his teaspoon to the saucer. "Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire, you have provided a spark that, left unattended, may grow to an inferno that destroys Panem."

With a teenager's brashness, Katniss, asked, "Why don't you just kill me now?"

"Publicly?" Coriolanus sipped his tea. "That would only add fuel to the flames."

"Arrange an accident, then."

"Who would buy it?" asked Snow. "Not you, if you were watching."

"Then just tell me what you want me to do. I'll do it."

"If only it were that simple." Coriolanus picked up one of the flowered cookies to examine. "Lovely. Your mother made these?"

"Peeta," replied Katniss, breaking her gaze. When she lifted her teacup, the cup began rattling upon its saucer, causing her to set it promptly back onto the desk. To mask her nervousness, the girl quickly reached for a cookie.

"Peeta," repeated the president. "How _is_ the love of your life?"

"Good."

"At what point did he realize the exact degree of your indifference?" Snow dipped his cookie into his tea.

"I'm not indifferent."

Savoring his bite of cookie, Snow's eyes narrowed on the girl. "But perhaps not as taken with the young man as you would have the country believe."

"Who says I'm not?" asked the nervous girl.

"I do," replied the president. "And I wouldn't be here if I were the only person who had doubts. How's the handsome cousin?"

"I don't know…I don't…." The girl frowned and began staring at the floor.

"Speak, Miss Everdeen. Him I can easily kill off if we don't come to a happy resolution." Snow patiently sipped his tea. "You aren't doing him a favor by disappearing into the woods with him each Sunday."

No longer able to hide her emotions, the girl sat stunned as she combed her thoughts. Slowly, her face and shoulders began to sag. "Please don't hurt Gale," she whispered. "He's just my friend. He's been my friend for years. That's all that's between us. Besides, everyone thinks we're cousins now."

Irritated by a growing scratchiness in his throat, Coriolanus took a larger sip of tea. "I'm only interested in how it affects your dynamic with Peeta, thereby affecting the mood in the districts."

"It will be the same on the tour. I'll be in love with him just as I was."

"Just as you are," corrected the president.

"Just as I am," confirmed Katniss.

With a long sigh, Coriolanus finished his tea in a large gulp, the hot liquid soothing his throat. "Only you'll have to do even better if the uprisings are to be averted. This tour will be your only chance to turn things around."

"I know. I will," said Katniss, her fidgeting increasing.  
>"I'll convince everyone in the districts that I wasn't defying the Capitol, that I was crazy with love."<p>

The president rose, dabbing his lips with a napkin. "Aim higher in case you fall short."

"What do you mean? How can I aim higher?" asked Katniss.

"Convince _me_," replied Snow. The president dropped the napkin onto the desk and retrieved his book. Observing the pale, black expression on the girl's face, he leaned close to her ear and whispered, "By the way, I know about the kiss."

Katniss shuttered so faintly that it was barely noticeable, but it was enough to confirm Coriolanus's suspicions.

His message delivered, the president departed the study, closing the door behind him. He walked past Tiberius and on towards the front door.

Standing nearby, Mrs. Everdeen opened the front door. "Goodbye, Mr. President. I hope you enjoyed the tea."

"Thank you again, Mrs. Everdeen. Your tea was heavenly, perfect for a dry throat."

"Did the visit go well," she asked unable to hide her concern.

"Yes," replied the president as he buttoned his jacket. "Thank you for inviting us into your home."

At the limousine, Tiberius opened the door for the president. "Sir, do you think the young victor is part of the underground?"

"She's not a spy, nor is she part of any organization." The president glanced back at the house. "But, it doesn't mean that those lurking in the shadows will not use her. Tiberius, I want you to continue monitoring her. Track every new person who talks to her. When she visits all the other districts during her victory tour, try to measure the impact she has in each district." Fed up with the cold, Coriolanus entered the limousine.

"Yes, sir." Tiberius leaned inside the vehicle. "And what if we discover that she's initiating discord within Panem."

"We'll then just have to take control of her fate, perhaps one that will set irrational dreamers straight."

"Mr. President, my years of being a Peacekeeper tell me that some people just don't learn. Dreamers are the type who solely live to change the world—even if it might make things worse."

"I agree with you, Mr. Pullo." Sighing, the president tapped his novel. "If they want a different world, they should pick up a good book. It doesn't get much better than this."

Tiberius smiled. "Reading and thoughtful reflection? You're asking a lot from people."

Coriolanus gave his droll assistant a disapproving look. "Just take me back to the train station."


	6. The Repercussions

**24 The Repercussions**

Surprising the television stagehands, President Snow walked directly through them and onto the stage where Caesar Flickerman sat with Peeta and Katniss for the traditional victor's winter tour interview. There would be no more niceties, no more asking out of politeness. Panem had fallen into crisis, and the girl—that many believed to have sparked the growing unrest—now held the president's attention. With the latest security reports from Antonius and Titus fresh in mind, Snow felt irresistibly drawn to the person who appeared to be the catalyst.

The president clasped Peeta's hand and gave him an approving slap on the shoulder. He next embraced Katniss, planting a simple kiss on her cheek. When he pulled back, his fingers dug into her arms as he forced a smile for the cameras.

Alarmed by the surprise visit, Katniss raised her eyebrows—her silent way of asking, _did I convince them?_

The president gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head to let her know that he would take control, that it was up to him to quell the unrest. Silencing the audience, President Snow asked, "What do you think about us throwing them a wedding right here in the Capitol?" With perplexed awe, Coriolanus watched as Katniss played along, becoming catatonic with joy.

Caesar Flickerman asked, "Mr. President, do you have a date in mind?"

"Oh, before we set a date, we better clear it with Katniss's mother," replied the president. As the audience showed their approval, Snow put his arm around Katniss. "Maybe if the whole country puts its mind to it, we can get you married before you're thirty."

"You'll probably have to pass a new law," said Katniss, giggling.

"If that's what it takes," retorted the president with conspiratorial good humor. He liked his victors—well, most of them, and he especially liked Katniss for her bravery and fortitude. For this reason, it saddened him that she had to be sacrificed in the hope of pacifying the unrest. For Coriolanus, fate was not what was to come; fate was how it had to be.

**...**

A couple of months later, the president began climbing the stage when the anthem began playing. A young boy, the nephew of Ashur, held a simple wooden box and promptly followed the president up the steps. The nervous lad, wearing a matching white suit, gripped the box with white knuckles.

At center stage, Snow glanced at the box and recalled his trip to the presidential vault weeks prior when he collected the details of the Quarter Quell for Head Gamemaker Plutarch Heavensbee. Snow could clearly remember what he had written on the Quarter Quell card, sealing Katniss's fate. _Let's hope the ink has dried_, he thought.

Upon anthem completion, President Snow spoke, reminding Panem of the Dark Days from which the Hunger Games were born. He recited the history of when the laws for the Games were created and how they dictated that every twenty-fifth anniversary would be marked by a Quarter Quell; the law called for a glorified version of the Games to make fresh the memory of those killed by the districts' rebellion.

As the president spoke, he spoke as if talking directly to the rebels, hoping that they would realize that their goals were unattainable, that they would only destroy Panem if they tried to overturn the government.

President Snow proceeded to remind the country of the previous Quarter Quells scenarios. "On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it. On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes." The president paused, wondering if what he had written on tonight's card would be enough. Swallowing back his urge to cough, he said, "And now we honor our third Quarter Quell"

When the boy stepped forward with the box, Coriolanus opened the lid to reveal upright rows of yellowed envelopes with discolored edges. The president removed an envelope marked with the number 75. He ran his finger under the flap and pulled out a small square card.

Without hesitation, he read, "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

Gasps rose from the audience as the words registered. Some were troubled as moans and shouts of displeasure cut through the whispers. Some were excited and cheered at the chance to see a _best of_ competition.

The president held out his hands to calm the crowd and proceeded to thank the districts for their past and present sacrifices that kept Panem flourishing and united. He then announced that the reaping would occur within a couple months as normally scheduled. Concluding, Snow wished all the victors good luck at the reaping, knowing—as planned—that the sole female victor of District 12 had no escape.

Descending from the stage, he thought, _Nothing personal, my dear._

**...**

On the day of the reaping, Coriolanus was working busily in his outdoor garden when Tiberius approached hurriedly through the maze of hedgerows. As the security assistant neared, Coriolanus began to feel uneasy due to the unusual worried look on the man's face.

The middle-aged security assistant held up his hand to catch his breath.

Coriolanus wiped his sweaty brow and asked, "What is it, Tiberius?"

"Sir, they told me that you didn't watch the reaping."

"I didn't see the point of watching since there is only one name of any concern, and we both know her selection was a certainty."

"Not her," said Tiberius, continuing to take deep breaths. "It's Cashmere. She's been reaped."

Coriolanus felt his insides twist. "Didn't anyone volunteer for her?"

Shaking his head, Tiberius swallowed hard. "Mr. President, she's the volunteer. After she came forward, her brother Gloss joined her by also volunteering. They are on their way to the Capitol now. They should arrive just before sunrise."

Succumbing to shock, Coriolanus dropped his pruning shears onto the rock path as his face became void of color. Numbly, he headed for the mansion in search of solitude.

As Coriolanus dressed the next morning, he was fumbling with his tie when he detected a familiar scent of shampoo. He turned to find Cashmere standing in his bedroom and his security assistant standing in the open doorway.

The president nodded to Tiberius and waited for the man to close the door. Looking to Cashmere, Coriolanus immediately felt his eyes begin well. "Why?" he asked, his voice breaking on the simple word.

Cashmere stepped close, brushing away a tear that hung on the president's cheek. "I'm tired, my friend. I'm a woman who was trained from birth to be a warrior. It's in my blood, and this life ages us quicker than normal. When this opportunity presented itself, I instinctively took it. I will die how I lived, a warrior."

"You're brother?"

"He thinks he's going to protect me." Cashmere eyes drifted down as she swallowed back her emotions. "The fool."

Reaching out, Coriolanus gripped both of Cashmere's hands and brought them to his lips, planting a soft kiss upon her knuckles. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be, Coriolanus. Fate is what it is."

"I...I should not have read that card," he said. He tightened his grip on her hands. "I should have made sure that you were immune."

Cashmere lovingly squeezed Coriolanus's hands as she looked into his eyes. "Did you create this scenario for the Quarter Quell? I promise not to tell anyone if this is so."

Hesitantly, the president nodded his head. "The founders left blank cards so that presidents could create scenarios to match the current state of the country. I did it for Panem; I did it with the hope of suppressing the uprisings."

"How?" asked Cashmere.

"Katniss Everdeen, she's unknowingly inciting unrest. She needs to meet a fate that puts the citizens' consciousness back in line."

"Ah, I see." Seeing her friend's despair, Cashmere welcomed Coriolanus into her arms. "I will put her on the top of my target list. I will also convince the other Careers that it would be in their best interest if the girl on fire should exit the competition as soon as possible."

After a long moment of consolation, Coriolanus took a deep, staggered breath and asked, "Will you try to win?"

Clearing her throat, Cashmere replied, "Don't ask me this."

The president gently broke their embrace. "I need you to live."

"You have to let me go. I'm tired of being a victor; I'm tired of the nightmares." Cashmere kissed the president's hands. "I know you love me like your daughter, and I love you as a father, but you have to let me go, Coriolanus. This is what I want."

The president's hands lowered, slowly releasing their grip. As fresh tears rolled down his cheeks, he could only nod his consent.

Kissing him on the cheek, Cashmere whispered into his ear, "Goodbye, my friend."

Feeling his friend slip away, Coriolanus could no longer speak.

Wiping away her own tears, Cashmere stepped backwards towards the door. "I have to get back to the Remake Center." She then smiled in a manner that revealed a touch of madness—a victor's smile. "My chariot awaits."

**...**

For the next five days, the president numbly went about his days. He met daily with his defense minister and learned of the continuing unrest. He went to the cabinet meeting, disinterested in the country's mundane affairs. Trapped with his thoughts, he found himself in a state of mourning.

The weekend before the start of the Games, the president's anger began to take shape—not towards Katniss—but at Cashmere. He could not understand her volunteering. The president felt as if she had given up on life, and her being relatively young only upset him more.

The night before the Games, Coriolanus accepted a glass of water from his security assistant as the two men prepared to watch the television interviews of the tributes. Sipping his water, he gripped his blood spotted handkerchief in anticipation of Caesar Flickerman interviewing the first tribute, the female from District 1.

Cashmere stepped onto that stage and began the night with a speech about how she just could not stop crying when she thought of how much the people in the Capitol would suffer because they would lose their favorite victors. As host, Caesar worked his magic of smoothing out difficult situations with just the right words, and the interview ended without controversy with Cashmere returning to her chair along the back of the stage.

Holding his handkerchief to his lips, Coriolanus remained statuesque throughout the entire interview.

Tiberius cleared his throat. "I talked to Cashmere yesterday. She said that some of the victors will complain about their reaping during their interviews."

Sipping from his water glass, Coriolanus gave no response.

Shifting nervously in his chair, Tiberius continued, "Cashmere reaffirmed that Districts One and Two have set their goals on the girl from District Twelve."

"One and Two understand," said Snow. "They know what it takes for a country to thrive, the sacrifices needed, the difficult choices faced by its officials…and the repercussions." Snow again sipped from his glass. "What about District Four?"

"Cashmere isn't sure. She said that she's getting a strange vibe from Finnick Odair. She doesn't trust the either from Four. She doesn't think those from Three to be of any use."

On the television, victor Beetee from District 3 began questioning the legality of the Quarter Quell.

Snow's brow furled as his eyes narrowed on the television. "I'll talk to Head Gamemaker Heavensbee tonight to remind him that no one from Twelve is supposed to survive this year's Games. Let us hope that Heavensbee has learned from his predecessor's mistakes."

**...**

The following day, with Antonius and Tiberius at his side, Snow watched with great disappointment as Katniss survived the first day of the Games. Most disappointing came the knowledge that District 4 had aligned with 12—breaking a long-standing tradition.

Day two of the Games took a heavy toll on Coriolanus. The many cameras in the arena revealed that the remaining six Career Tributes loyal to Panem, planned to use the Cornucopia for an ambush. With their superior athleticism, open combat on an island beach would be easier than trying to hunt in the jungle. The six Careers felt certain that Katniss and her gang would eventually return to the Cornucopia for additional weapons and supplies.

With pressing presidential duties as an excuse, Coriolanus pulled himself away from his television and went alone to his office, requesting Tiberius to call if something should happen. A little after two o'clock, his security assistant called to alert him of an impending battle.

In his office, the president grabbed his media tablet and watched the action unfold. With Katniss and her allies strategizing at the Cornucopia, the six Careers stealthily made it to the center island. The battle would pit the four deadly Careers against Katniss's team of six, of which, only three of which skilled fighters.

Off to the side, the cameras showed the senile Wiress cleaning an object in the ocean as she sung a childish song about a mouse and a clock. The mad woman's position could easily spoil the ambush, so Gloss began prowling after Wiress. Nearby, Cashmere stood ready if her brother should need assistance.

Gloss's knife sliced through Wiress's throat, silencing her forever, but unforeseen by him, the muting of Wiress had the opposite effect. Alarmed by the sudden silence, Katniss instinctively turned with a drawn bow and planted an arrow in Gloss's temple. Watching her brother fall dead, the speed of Katniss's reaction stunned Cashmere, and that split second allowed Johanna from District 7 to throw her axe, striking Cashmere in the chest, killing her. The remaining two Career tributes tossed their weapons at their targets, lightly wounding the male from District 4 in the leg.

Now heavily outnumbered, the two remaining Careers ran for the jungle. Katniss and her allies jumped forward to finish off the Careers, but the Gamemakers had other ideas and put the tiny island on which the Cornucopia sat in motion. The tiny island began to turn, rotating just fast enough to throw everyone off their feet. Katniss and her allies quickly became disoriented as the island continued to spin, the remaining two Careers making their escape.

With the battle over, Coriolanus turned off the tablet and gently laid it on his desk. He sat in silence for minutes, free of coughing—and emotion. Eventually, from deep within, the president felt a hollow pain grow in his chest. The numbness he had been experiencing for the past week shattered, allowing grief to surge into his heart. Alone, he began to weep.

Having watched the Games coverage at her secretarial desk, Vera rushed into the president's office as soon as she had heard his wails. Aware of his friendship with Cashmere, Vera knelt before the man and held him in her arms.

Leaning against Vera, Coriolanus mourned his fallen friend, the victor who finally found peace, who had sacrificed her life twice for Panem.

**...**

Day 3's tension forced the president to remain in his sitting room, accompanied by Antonius and Tiberius. The day passed agonizingly slow as the television cameras switched between the two tribute camps, each strategizing against the other with the Careers outnumbered 2 to 5.

As midnight approached, Coriolanus's coughing fits began to return as his grief again morphed into anger. Folding over his spotted handkerchief, Coriolanus sipped warm tea in anticipating of his next fit.

Tiberius studied the president. "Sir, should I call your doctor and have him join us here in the mansion?"

Without turning his head, the president glared at Tiberius from the corner of his eye. "Why?"

"I'm worried about your health, sir. The stress of the Games is taking a toll on you."

"Hmm," replied Snow in a low tone, "the doctor can see me tomorrow. I want to see if Beetee's wire trap will kill the remaining two."

"It's seems feasible," said Antonius.

"Yes it does," affirmed the president. "But Beetee is extremely clever. More importantly, that wire shouldn't be there." Snow looked to his defense minister. "Antonius, first thing tomorrow, find out who snuck in that spool of wire."

The potential significance of the unauthorized wire suddenly registered on Antonius's face. "Yes, sir."

Tiberius pointed at the television. "Brutus and Enobaria are on a collision course with the others. This could be interesting."

Snow gazed up at the television as the announcers excitedly gave their prediction for the upcoming battle. What held Coriolanus's attention were the short cut scenes of Beetee, which showed the elder tribute studying the outside jungle at the edge of the arena. _Shouldn't he be studying the lightning tree? _thought Snow.

Shortly before midnight, the cameras focused on Katniss and Johanna as they unwound the wire down the hillside towards the center lake. When the wire suddenly went slack, the camera switched to the lightning tree where a replay showed Beetee cutting the wire moments ago.

Tiberius sat up. "Why would he sabotage his own trap?"

The announcers frantically cut in to say that Johanna had unexpectedly attacked her ally Katniss. When the cameras switched to the scene, Johanna was seen stepping away from a wounded Katniss who lay still on the ground, her face smeared with blood.

Snow sat up in a panic, his handkerchief crumpled into his fist. "Beetee has outsmarted everyone, including the Gamemakers."

The announcers franticly began to stammer, unable to keep up with the many events unfolding on their many monitors. Suddenly, the television switched back to the lighting tree to reveal Beetee lying unconscious on the ground. One of the announcers presumed that Beetee had a fatal run in with the nearby force field that surrounded the arena. As the announcers rambled, the television camera focused for a brief second on a knife lying next to the unconscious man, the blade wrapped with the wire.

Fraught with concern, Antonius and Snow exchanged looks.

The camera changed to reveal Katniss staggering towards Beetee. Kneeling by his side, she quickly inspected the wound on Beetee's arm and found it similar to her own. Looking about, she called out for Peeta. When she heard the sound of footsteps, Katniss positioned herself out of sight and prepared her bow.

Through the brush appeared Finnick from District 4 and Enobaria from District 2.

With a confused look, Tiberius turned to the other two men in the president's sitting room. "Did I miss something? I thought those two were enemies."

"Shhh." Antonius pointed to the television.

The camera switched to Katniss just as she lowered her bow. She picked up the knife and began unwinding the wire from the blade.

Tiberius leaned forward, his hands nervously rubbed his thighs. "This is the strangest Hunger Games yet. I have no clue what's going on.

Coriolanus watched in silence as Katniss began attaching the wire to her arrow. The events suddenly clear, the president jumped to his feet and said through gritted teeth, "Antonius, they are trying to escape the arena."

Just then, Katniss shot her arrow at the force field as lightning simultaneously struck the tree. A flash of white blinded the television camera, followed by the scene fading to black.

"What the..." Tiberius stood up.

The television switched to the announcer's booth where the two perplexed hosts glanced at their various blank monitors. They began apologizing on behalf of the Games for the unforeseen technical difficulties, promising to return to the exciting action inside the arena as soon as possible.

"Antonius," commanded Snow, "evoke the defense plan. I'm declaring martial law." The president stepped to a nearby chair to recover his presidential jacket.

"Yes, sir." The defense minister pulled out his smartphone. "All the districts, sir?"

"Yes. And cut power to all." Snow began donning his jacket. "We'll return power after we assess the situation."

Tiberius glanced back at the television. "Perhaps it's just a technical issue with the signal."

His face drained of color, Snow shook his head. "What we just witnessed is not typical."

The defense minister spoke into his phone. "Commander, evoke defense plan alpha, president's order. Put the missiles on standby and all hovercraft into the air. And Commander, I want to know what's happening in the arena. Forward even the smallest news to me as it comes in."

With Antonius at his side, Coriolanus headed for the door. "Tiberius, call an emergency cabinet meeting. I want everyone present."

Tiberius sprung forward, trailing the two men. "What time, sir."

"Now! And I want all the mentors, prep teams, and stylists arrested."

Franticly, Tiberius dug in his pockets for his smartphone. "Why the stylists, Mr. President?"

With a heavy sigh, Coriolanus said, "If what I suspect is happening to Panem, vast treason has been committed. We need to cast a wide net to discover the truth."

When the three men arrived to the empty cabinet room, Snow began pacing as Tiberius turned on the television to discover the announcers still apologizing for the lost signal.

The defense minister's smartphone chimed. "Antonius here." As he listened, his face sagged from the news. "Keep me informed." Ending the call, he turned to the president.

"What?" asked Snow.

"The Head Peacekeeper at the arena has confirmed a security breach. A hovercraft took some of the victor's away. They believe Katniss Everdeen was one of them."

Snow turned to Tiberius. "What does Head Gamemaker Heavensbee think? I want to talk to him."

With his smartphone to his ear, Tiberius shrugged. "I have one of the Gamemakers on the phone now. They say that they don't know the current whereabouts of the Head Gamemaker."

"What!" Assuming the worse, Snow slammed his hands onto the table. "Tell them to find him at all costs!"

"Yes, sir," replied Tiberius.

Snow leaned against the conference table. "Do they know who took our hovercraft? Who could have done this?"

Antonius shook his head. "Many reported that the hovercraft looked different from our own."

With a knitted brow, Tiberius turned to the defense minister. "Only defense forces have hovercraft. Who else could it be?"

The president inhaled deeply as more pieces of the puzzle came together. In a grim tone, Snow gave the answer, "Thirteen. They still had hovercraft when the war ended 75 years ago. "

"What?" Tiberius glanced at each man.

"I think so too," said Antonius.

Tiberius's smartphone chimed. He read the text message and said, "The Head Peacekeeper at Game Headquarters has arrested all the mentors and stylists on site, with one noticeable absence: Haymitch Abernathy."

"District Twelve is working with Thirteen." His throat burning, Snow covered his mouth with his handkerchief.

Antonius nodded in agreement. "District Thirteen could be working with all the outlier districts." The defense minister's smartphone chimed with a text. He glanced at the screen and said, "Reports are coming in of riots in most of the districts. Thirteen and their conspirators could be making a global attack as we speak. We should counter attack immediately?"

"Where?" asked Tiberius.

"District Twelve," replied Snow, rage surging through his body. "District Thirteen must have secretly infiltrated into Twelve, making it their rebel home base. Strike Twelve now, strike them hard to let them know that Panem won't roll over." Flopping into his chair, Snow said with solemn voice. "Panem is at war."


	7. The Propos

**25 The Propos**

When the president took his seat in the cabinet room, he looked up to see the room packed with people—most whose names he could not remember. Sitting at the table, were the familiar aides and ministers who had served Panem loyally for the many years of his presidency. But absent was one notable traitor, Head Gamemaker Heavensbee.

With a heavy breath, Snow began the first war cabinet meeting. "Antonius, have the Peacekeepers finished their search of District Twelve?"

"Yes, Mr. President. Much of the town was destroyed by the resulting fire, which we believe burned out of control due to ample coal dust."

Coriolanus grimaced, for he had seen pictures of the aftermath earlier that morning. "Did they find any evidence of District Thirteen?"

"No, sir," replied Antonius. "After the citizens abandoned the town, District Thirteen hovercraft collected them 3 days later at what we suspect to be their predetermined meeting point. Our Peacekeepers searched what they could, and our security specialist combed through their victor's village. In whatever manner Thirteen collaborated with Twelve, it was very professional and discreet. They left no paper trail."

Someone in the room asked, "How many casualties were there? How many escaped to Thirteen?"

Antonius shrugged. "We don't really know how many died when we bombed their key infrastructures, but it was evident that most fell victim to the resulting coal dust fires. We also don't know the number of those who fled to Thirteen. We were more concerned with collecting information than with counting bodies, so we pulled all our Peacekeepers from the area as soon as they finished their search, fearing a counter attack."

Coriolanus dabbed his lips with his handkerchief—grateful not to find fresh blood. "Did your people leave the single white rose in the Everdeen house?"

"Yes, sir. Right where you instructed."

One of the aides raised a hand. "A rose? For what reason, Mr. President."

From under a heavy brow, Snow looked up at the aide. "To let the person pulling Miss Everdeen's strings know that I'm on to them."

"Who all defected to the rebel side," asked another aide.

The president gestured to Tiberius to answer.

"The victors who escaped the arena on District Thirteen's hovercraft are as follows: Beetee from District Three, Finnick from District Four, and Katniss from District Twelve. We captured Enobaria from District Two, Johanna from District Seven, and Peeta from District Twelve. Also committing treason is Head Gamemaker Heavensbee and the mentor from District Twelve, Haymitch Abernathy. We have arrested and are now questioning all the stylists, mentors, and prep teams. What perplexes us is that Heavensbee may have taken District Twelves's prep team with him."

Coriolanus huffed, finding the news amusing. "He wants Miss Everdeen to look her best. He's going to use her for propaganda."

"She's just a girl," commented someone at the table.

"And people are sheep," retorted Snow. "They'll follow anything on television if it entertains them. We fortunately have her _true love_, Peeta, and we can do our own propaganda. Tiberius, have you begun your enhanced interrogation of young Mr. Mellark?"

The security assistant straightened in his chair. "Yes, Mr. President. We will have Caesar Flickerman interview him in a couple weeks. He needs to calm down a bit before we put him on television."

"Do what you must, Mr. Pullo. Do what you must."

**...**

In the president's sitting room, Presidential Aide Ashur Magnus sipped his tea as he watched Caesar Flickerman interview Peeta Mellark on the television. In his leather chair, Coriolanus watched intently as he focused on every word chosen by the victor. The interview progressed acceptably with Peeta urging the country to end the costly war, a war that would have no winner. _Tiberius has done well, _thought Snow. At one point in the interview, Peeta became agitated when Katniss's name was mentioned, but in a whole, the public call for peace came off without a complication.

With the interview complete, Ashur reached for the remote and turned off the television. "That went well, Mr. President. Do you think the rebels will call a truce?"

"No." Coriolanus eyed his aide, studying his reaction.

"Why then go to the trouble of creating this video if not for a truce? Or do you believe we have certain victory?"

"At most," replied the president, "when we start airing this and other propaganda videos, we are hoping to start negotiations and buy time."

"To negotiate a truce?"

"No. To negotiate our surrender."

Ashur sat up. "What?"

"The reason I invited you to join me tonight is to confide in you that we will not win this war. The enemy has more resources and troops at its disposal. They control the food and energy supplies. Few realize this, but most wars are determined before the first shot, and we've already lost." Saying the words aloud gave the president pause. Snow sighed and then sipped his tea.

Ashur began to fidget as he shifted in his chair. "Does anyone else know this?"

"Yes. Antonius and Tiberius know the certainty of our loss. We all knew the moment we discovered that a hovercraft from District Thirteen had rescued the victors from the arena."

"Are you certain we'll lose?"

Snow nodded. "District Thirteen has been planning this for 75 years. Only drunks and madmen start fights they are not certain to win."

"Why not surrender now and save lives?"

"We can't," replied Snow. "Thirteen wants an unconditional surrender. They would take everything. Our supporters, the ones with the true power in the Capitol—the ones who made me president—would never allow that. They are not going to hand over their own fortunes and businesses to the enemy. If we can get them to negotiate a surrender, then those with power can save themselves and become part of the new government. Moreover, the banks and larger corporations need time to adjust their books. If the new boss is like the old boss, they'll present their real books to the new government. If the new boss is a vindictive tyrant, they will present altered books that hide their assets until that new boss is eventually replaced."

"Why are you telling me this?" Ashur rubbed his face in disbelief.

"You too have a role in the new government. Your slate is clean. I'm certain that the leaders of Thirteen will appreciate an honest public servant such as you, someone who can help them get Panem back on its feet. You will be priceless to them. When the end comes, I want you to do your best bring Panem back to life. I want you at the new president's side, helping Panem to thrive again. You must assist the new president. You have always put Panem first, and I admire that."

Slowly, Ashur reclined back into his seat. "How can you be so sure this is what Thirteen wants? Maybe District Thirteen will be the new Capitol."

"No. Whoever is behind this wants it all. If they didn't care about the Capitol, they'd be negotiating, isolating us with Districts One and Two on this side of the continent."

"How long do we have?" asked Ashur.

"Antonius thinks months, nine if we can stretch our resources."

His mood darkening, Ashur sunk deeper into his chair. "And you really think some of us will be part of the new government?"

"Yes," said Snow in an assured tone.

"How can you be sure?"

Staring into the void, Snow said, "Because, this is how I'd conquer Panem if I was Thirteen."

**...**

The next evening, President Snow and Tiberius stood off stage as they watch Caesar Flickerman interview Peeta a second time. They listened to the sincere words of the young lad as he expressed his mature understanding of the futility of war, pleading directly to his love, Katniss, to think about for whom she is fighting.

Coriolanus leaned close to his security assistant and whispered, "He looks worse than the first interview. The makeup doesn't hide it."

Tiberius nodded in agreement. "True. He's becoming more agitated as the days pass. We could slip stress medicine into his food, but the grogginess might show."

"Don't bother," said the president. "We need him nervous and agitated for the next video. After that, we'll be done with him."

Turning to the president, Tiberius asked nonchalantly. "Do you plan on executing him?"

"No," replied Snow.

"Mr. President, since our victory is a long shot, I have a long shot of my own that I'd like to try?"

Knowing his security assistant's unorthodox skills, the president broke a faint grin. "I'm listening."

"If we no longer need this young man for propaganda, I'd like to turn him into a weapon."

The president eye the man. "Is that possible?"

**...**

Underscored by the anthem, the Capitol seal appeared on the feed monitor as President Snow received his cue. The man turned towards the television camera and greeted the nation from behind a podium with a fresh white rose in his lapel.

The camera pulled back to show Peeta off to the side with a projected map of Panem behind him. The young man sat in an elevated chair, his shoes supported by a metal rung, the foot of his prosthetic leg nervously tapping out a strange irregular beat. Beads of sweat broke through the layer of powder on his upper lip and forehead, but it was the look in his eyes—angry yet unfocused—that kept Tiberius's attention just off camera.

Snow gave a quick enthusiastic update of the war, admitting his concern for all the lives sensuously lost. He then turned to Peeta and asked for his thoughts of the war.

Peeta began to speak in a frustrated tone about the need for the cease-fire. As the lad spoke, parts of the map lit up, highlighting the damaged done to key infrastructure in various districts. Images of the destruction flashed on a feed monitor: a broken dam in 7, a derailed train with a pool of toxic waste spilling from the tank cars, a granary collapsing after a fire. All of these, Peeta attributed to rebel action.

Without warning, Katniss's image appeared on the feed monitor.

The president took a deep breath as he and Peeta glanced at one another. Retaining his composure, the president said to the director off camera, "Please retake control of the feed, if you'd be so kind."

When the monitor switched back the Capitol feed, the camera focused on a distracted Peeta. He tried to pick up his speech by pointing out the bombing of a water purification plant, when another clip of Katniss speaking replaced him on the feed monitor.

The broadcast then broke down into a technical battle as Capitol technicians countered the rebel's interference of the airwaves. The entire presentation further deteriorated as the feed monitor became peppered with choice shots of various victors. As Peeta became fixated on the monitor, Snow and Tiberius remained fixated on the young lad.

The Capitol seal returned to the feed monitor, accompanied by a flat audio tone to allow those in the studio to collect their composure. The tone continued to play as Tiberius screamed at technicians in the booth to get their act together. Over the next few seconds, people cursed at each other, throwing blame for the disastrous broadcast when Snow and Peeta appeared without cue on the feed monitor.

Plowing forward, Snow demanded quiet on the set, informing Panem that the rebels were attempting to disrupt the dissemination of information that they deem incriminating. Raising his chin, Snow declared to the nation that both truth and justice would continue to reign. Turning to Peeta, he asked, "Given tonight's demonstration, do you have any parting thoughts for Katniss Everdeen?"

At the mention of Katniss's name, Peeta's face contorted in effort. "Katniss…how do you think this will end? What will be left? No one is safe. Not in the Capitol. Not in the districts. And you…in Thirteen…" He inhaled sharply as if fighting for air; his eyes hinted at insanity when he blurted out, "Dead by morning!"

The president gestured to Tiberius. "End it!"

The broadcast then descended into chaos with flashes of still shots of Katniss in her opening ceremony costumes. Between the images, Panem was privy to the real-life action being played out on the set.

Peeta tried to speak further, but Tiberius's fist turned his words into a muffled groan. Peeta shoved the security assistant back, knocking the television camera over onto the white tiled floor. The lad then turned to find two Peacekeepers rushing towards him. When their riot batons made contact, Peeta cried out in pain as his blood splattered across the tiles directly before camera. A riot baton struck Peeta in the head, and the young man fell to the floor unconscious.

"Stop!" commanded the president.

The stage director listening through his headphones turned to the broadcast booth. He next turned to Snow. "We're no longer recording, Mr. President."

Tiberius moved next to the unconscious lad. "Sorry about the camera, Mr. President."

"Don't be." Snow gestured to a monitor that displayed the view from the fallen camera. "The blood splatter on the tile is perfect, almost artistic if I dare say. Are you sure that your people will be able to broadcast this as we intend."

Using his foot, Tiberius rolled Peeta onto his back to study the boy's face. "Yes. Our technicians say that the rebels are constantly trying to override our television broadcasts. We'll let them think that they have broken in. They will never know that they are interrupting a prerecorded broadcast. We're confident that it will work."

"Good." The president began to unbutton his jacket. "What information did you let slip to set the boy off?"

"The truth: that we are going to attack with bunker busting bombs."

"That was risky," commented Snow.

"We needed him to snap during the broadcast. This is why we prerecorded this."

"How long do you need to...what do you call it?"

"Hijacking, Mr. President." Tiberius looked down at Peeta. "Two weeks are needed to hijack someone's mind, but three is preferred."

"Three might be pushing it."

"If I use people that Peeta personally knows, it might speed up the process. Mr. President, can I have Effie Trinket?"

"No," replied Coriolanus. "Effie and Enobaria are off limits. They have not betrayed Panem. However, you can use his prep team. You can even use his Avoxes from the Training Center if you think it will help."

"It will. It was fortunate that I sent their friend Darius to the Training Center after his Avox training."

"Perhaps." Before departing the television set, Snow paused with a thought. "Are you sure that they will want to rescue the boy?"

Tiberius turned to president and smiled. "Yes. Humans are so sentimentally flawed. Besides, he _saved_ them with his warning. And with the simple tugging of heart strings, they will feel compelled to have the love birds back together; they won't be able to resist." The security assistant's smile grew. "Especially when our double agent tells them how feasible Peeta's rescue will be."

**...**

In the defense minister's war room, Antonius and Snow watched on a wall-mounted monitor a replay of the latest rebel propaganda video that had broadcasted across the districts. On the screen, the two men watched Katniss, in her role of the Mockingjay, give a speech in what appeared to be a combat area in District 8.

Standing before flames and smoke from a recent bombing, Katniss looked at the camera and said, "I want to tell the rebels that I am alive. That I'm right here in District Eight, where the Capitol has just bombed a hospital full of unarmed men, women, and children. There will be no survivors."

The video cut to a scene of a military hospital collapsing in on itself as Katniss's voice-over continued. _"_I want to tell people that if you think for one second the Capitol will treat us fairly if there's a cease-fire, you're deluding yourself. Because you know who they are and what they do."

The camera switched back to Katniss, her hands lifted in outrage. "This is what they do! And we must fight back!"

The sceen switched to a montage of the battle: bombs falling, Katniss running before being blown to the ground—a close-up of her bloody leg wound, her scaling the roof, diving into the nests, and then some over dramatic shots of the rebels, Gale, and Katniss shooting at hovercraft.

The video transitioned by a smash-cut back to Katniss moving in on the camera. _"_President Snow says he's sending us a message? Well, I have one for him. You can torture us and bomb us and burn our districts to the ground, but do you see that?" Focusing on a plane burning on the roof of a warehouse, the camera zoomed in tight on the Capitol seal on a wing before melting back into the image of Katniss's face as she shouted a message to the president. "Fire is catching! And if we burn, you burn with us!"

Flames engulfed the screen with words appearing in superimposed black, solid letters:

IF WE BURN, YOU BURN WITH US

The words began to burn and the whole screen incinerated into blackness.

Turning off the video, Antonius dropped the remote onto his desk. "Heavensbee has always been the melodramatic type, quite over the top for my liking."

Snow shook his head at the gaudy production. "We know he took Fulvia Cardew when he committed treason. I can see her bad sense of taste in production."

"Do you think their propos will have any effect?" asked Antonius.

The president frowned. "Please, don't call them that."

"What? Propos?"

"Yes," replied Coriolanus. "If you're too lazy to call them propaganda videos, then don't say anything.

Antonius had to fight his urge to smile. "Yes, sir."

Snow sighed. "Sorry. My declining health is not doing my mood any good. And yes, they may have an impact on the outlying districts." Coriolanus glanced up at the war map on the wall. "Why were the planes flying so low? We can drop bombs down chimneys from 5,000 feet."

Antonius grabbed his computer tablet is search of the combat report. "The pilots stated that they were flying low to do a visual confirmation of troop movements when they were caught off guard."

"Did they know that they were bombing a field hospital?"

"No, sir. The pilots reported that no 'H' was displayed on the roof. They thought it a weapons depot."

The president began replaying the propaganda video, muting the sound. "I'm sure Plutarch will make the most of the mistake."

Gnawing his lip, Antonius hesitantly set down his computer tablet. "I've ordered our pilots to no longer do low level confirmation flights. We can't afford any more losses."

The president nodded in agreement. "Has there been any fighting against actual District Thirteen soldiers?"

"No, sir. They occasionally use their hovercraft, but the rebels have done the majority of the fighting. We're fairly certain that Thirteen has sent combat advisors."

Tapping his finger slowly on the table, Snow stared up at the image of the Mockingjay. "Whoever is behind this doesn't believe in a shared sacrifice. This person does not intend to treat the other districts as equals. We're fighting someone with a personal agenda."

"We still have no detailed information about District Thirteen's leadership. We haven't captured any of Thirteen's soldiers, nor anyone from Twelve that has been granted Thirteen citizenship."

With a heavy sigh, Snow said, "We need to get their leader to come out from the shadows, to stop hiding behind the rebels. Perhaps if the districts knew the truth of whom they were fighting for, they would not be so enthusiastic to destroy their country. We cannot afford to wait any longer for Thirteen's leadership to make an appearance. It's time we kick the hornet's nest."

"I agree," said Antonius. "Do you still want to stretch out the deep penetration bombings or do it all at once?"

"Stretch it out. Since we are fighting shadows, we have to direct our punches at their Mockingjay. We'll broadcast our two remaining Peeta propaganda videos over three days and then hit them with bunker busting bombs."

"Are you certain this won't trigger a nuclear response?" asked Antonius

Snow's gaze slowly drifted back to his defense minister. "It's a risk we have to take. Hopefully, young Mr. Mellark will make our intentions clear.

The corner of Antonius's lip twitched with concern. "This is the last of our major munitions. We've lost the ability to produce more."

Snow glanced up again at the shrinking war map. "I know, but if you are going to kick a hornet's nest, put all your weight into it. Will they be able to retaliate by bombing the Capitol?"

Antonius shook his head. "Our air defenses are still very effective."

"Good." Coriolanus stared at the video of Katniss. "I want to add one thing to the mission. After they drop the last bunker buster, have them drop a dozen white and a dozen pink roses in front of their Justice Building."

"Why?" asked Antonius.

"The white are for the Mockingjay; the pink are for our shadow leader. I'm inviting them both to the dance."


	8. The Downfall

**26 The Downfall**

The president entered Antonius's war room, which brought the defense minister to his feet. Tiberius entered the room next, closing the door behind him.

Snow glanced at the too familiar war map, which now showed the rebels closing in on neighboring District 2. "Any word, Antonius?"

"No, Mr. President."

Taking a seat at the strategy table, Snow dabbed the fresh blood from his lips with his handkerchief. "Did you remove Effie Trinket from the prison?"

"Yes, sir." Antonius returned to his chair. "And we've released Enobaria as you ordered. She has decided to stay in the Capitol at a friend's apartment."

"Good."

Tiberius poured the president a glass of water and delivered it to the table. "Our double agent reported that the rebels would make their rescue attempt around 3pm. A couple guards are in the know at the prison, and they will contact me at the first sign of something happening."

Just as Tiberius took a seat at the table, his smartphone chimed. He glanced at the message and said, "The rebels have a new propo airing as we speak."

Snow eyed his security assistant.

"Sorry," said Tiberius. They have begun airing a new propaganda video.

Grabbing the remote from the table, Antonius tuned on a large wall monitor.

Tiberius gestured to his smartphone. "Should I tell our people to scramble the signal?"

Leaning back against his chair, Snow crossed his arms in thought. "It's clearly meant to be a distraction for the rescue. If we block it, they may not come for Mr. Mellark. Plus, it's probably riddled with something juicy. I'm curious; let it play."

Antonius turned up the volume amidst an interview of the Mockingjay, showing her ever defiant.

Coriolanus began turning the water glass in an endless circle as he stared up at the screen. "I wonder if she got my Devil's Roses. They were some of my finest."

Tiberius smiled. "Perhaps she's modest. She probably thinks the whole war is about her."

Coriolanus guffawed. "Every teenage girl thinks everything is about them."

On the monitor, the victor Finnick appeared—which silenced the war room. Finnick stared boldly into the camera and said in a flat, removed tone, "President Snow used to…sell me…my body, that is. I wasn't the only one. If a victor is considered desirable, the president gives them as a reward or allows people to buy them for an exorbitant amount of money. If you refuse, he kills someone you love. So you do it."

Tiberius frantically reached for his smartphone but paused when the president raised his hand.

"Let it play," said Snow. "This could be good."

Finnick carried on with his tale, disclosing his parade of lovers in the Capitol. They were never real lovers; just people who had power and who enjoyed flexing it, who wanted to spend time with a victor.

"I wasn't the only one, but I was the most popular," said Finnick. "And perhaps the most defenseless, because the people I loved were so defenseless. To make themselves feel better, my patrons would make presents of money or jewelry, but I found a much more valuable form of payment."

_Secrets,_ thought Snow with a deep breath. _You were withholding from me, weren't you?_

"Secrets," continued Finnick. "And this is where you're going to want to stay tuned, President Snow, because so very many of them were about you. But let's begin with some of the others."

Ashur turned to the president with his smartphone at his ear. "I'll tell them to jam all the frequencies."

Slowly, the president raised his hand. "No. He's been withholding from us, Mr. Pullo. He only shared tidbits. I want to hear it all."

"He could be spreading lies?"

Snow grinned. "Lies can't hurt us. Lies could never hurt us, and it's too late to worry about the truth. Let it play, Mr. Pullo."

Finnick began to weave a tapestry so rich in detail that no one could doubt its authenticity: tales of strange sexual appetites, betrayals of the heart, bottomless greed, and bloody power plays. The victor shared drunken secrets whispered over damp pillowcases in the dead of night.

Finnick did what all the victors thought was expected to them. Some could say _no _if they wanted to risk being ostracized. But some like Cashmere enjoyed their victor's status and the gifts showered upon them from admirers. Some feared more dangerous repercussions, but those threats were only rumor and hearsay. Carrots were more incenting than sticks, and no one in the government cared to deny promoting productive _partnerships_. And when later questioned if a victor had heard or seen something of interest to national defense, they were rewarded for the information. The secrets accumulated easily. Whom would the victors tell? And who would believe them if they did?

Snow recognized all the people Finnick named—all prominent Capitol citizens—but he knew from previous disclosures that what followed would be the most damning of all: incest, back-stabbing, blackmail, and arson.

"And now, on to our good President Coriolanus Snow," said Finnick. "Such a young man when he rose to power. Such a clever one to keep it. How, you must ask yourself, did he do it? One word. That's all you really need to know. Poison."

Finnick narrated Snow's political ascension and worked his way up to the present, pointing out case after case of the mysterious deaths of Snow's adversaries or, even worse, his allies who had the potential to become threats. He shared the stories of People dropping dead at a feast or slowly, inexplicably declining into shadows over a period of months, whose deaths were blamed on bad shellfish, elusive viruses, or an overlooked weakness in the aorta. The victor then spoke of Snow drinking from the poisoned cup himself to deflect suspicion, but unfortunately, antidotes do not always work. To cover the scent of blood from the mouth sores that will never heal, it was claimed that he wore roses that reeked with perfume.

With no more secrets to reveal, a subdued Finnick gave a final warning to Panem by declaring that Snow has a list and that no one knows who will be next. Staring into the camera, the victor sat stoically for a few more seconds until the rebel broadcast relented and Capitol programming returned.

The president began to chuckle, drawing the astounded attention of Antonius and Tiberius. "His story was pretty good until the end when he went over the top. Really? Do I give off the scent of blood?"

Tiberius quickly shifted his eyes to Antonius before addressing the president. "No, sir."

Biting his lip in frustration, the president exhaled heavily through his nose. "Perfume? I have never scented my roses. The Devil's Rose has a natural strong scent. They were my wife's favorite because of it." _Reek of perfume, _the insult repeated in his head, agitating him. "Finnick can insult me all he wants, but he cannot insult my roses. Have my roses ever offended you, Antonius?"

"No, sir," replied the defense minister as he continued to absorb Finnick's secrets. "What about the other accusations, Mr. President? Do you think that we have a problem?"

Touching the fresh petals of the rose in his lapel, the president shrugged. "If we were to win this war, yes. Where we stand...it does not matter. The shakeup will do the Capitol good, keep their minds off the war for a few days."

Clearing his throat, Tiberius asked, "Do you think Julia ratted you out in regard to the poison?"

"No," Coriolanus looked at his assistant with a smile. "I trust her with every ounce of my being."

"There were always rumors," said Antonius. "Rumors can't be avoided after a mysterious death."

"True." Snow sighed, his mind drifting to past events.

Observing the president, Antonius asked, "May I asked how many of the poison rumors Finnick spouted were true?"

The corners of Snow's mouth began to turn up. "Just a couple. I do want to make one thing clear; I have never harmed a friend or ally. Believe me; I'd welcome a friend who could free me of my presidential burdens. Most importantly, I could not have kept Panem afloat as long without your help." Snow held out his hand and received firm handshakes from the appreciative men.

"Mr. President," asked Tiberius, "do you want us to counter the rebel propaganda?"

"No. Just tell the press that we don't respond to mudslinging."

"Very good, sir."

Antonius's smartphone chimed. In an optimistic tone, he read aloud, "The rebels have rescued the three victors from the prison with minimum casualties incurred. We are progressing to the apprehension of the newly discovered spies who assisted them."

Snow smiled. "If anything, Tiberius, your plan helped us unmask some traitors. It was worth provoking them into rescuing young Mr. Mellark, even if the final result doesn't come to fruition."

"When your fate is certain," said Tiberius with an odd smile, "don't be afraid to take a chance."

The room fell silent as the three realized what was to come with the war entering the next and final stage.

Clasping his hands together above the table, the president leaned forward. "I may have an unavoidable date with the gallows, but this doesn't mean that you two must share my fate. It's time we discuss your post war futures."

**...**

The next day, Tiberius entered the president's indoor garden as the sun dipped behind the distant mountains. The man found the president working beneath the grow lights, pruning his roses. "Mr. President, you asked to see me?"

"Yes, Mr. Pullo, I did." With a hardened face, Coriolanus turned to his security assistant. "The rebels' little stunt last night, with their exposure of secrets, seems to have done more damage than what I had expected. Many of those prominent citizens named by Finnick are calling for justice, vengeance more like it."

"Didn't they all declare Finnick's words to be propaganda lies?"

"Yes, as did I." Coriolanus habitually dabbed at his lips with his handkerchief. "But those knowing of the truth were spited. It's not easy to maintain a lie. Moreover, being my supporters, they have demanded that I retaliate. If I don't, they will have the senators impeach me. If I'm impeached, do you know what will happen?"

Tiberius nodded. "The war will last much longer than planned, destroying everything."

"Correct. We cannot let anyone interrupt this controlled downfall. The Capitol's collapse was designed to minimize the loss of life. If they replace me with a war hawk, humanity will have nothing left. The human race could become extinct."

"What are your orders, Mr. President?"

Coriolanus rubbed his handkerchief with his thumb, staring at the specs of blood. He cleared his throat and said, "My supporters want the rebel spies that were captured to be executed. I'm not going to do this since they could serve a future purpose. Besides, acts of clemency now could mean acts of clemency down the road—not for me but for others. To abide our supporters, I've decided to...to execute Mr. Mallerk's stylist and prep team." Snow's shoulders slumped forward as he touched his lips. "Our supporters want it public, on television."

"Tonight, sir?" asked Tiberius free of emotion.

"Yes." Coriolanus saddened eyes drifted away as he sat onto a stool. "I'm afraid our supporters have run out of patience."

Tiberius began to turn, only to pause. He inhaled deeply and said, "I know this won't help, but this decision will probably save lives. The downfall you have planned will save most of the Capitol."

Through a garden window, Coriolanus gazed upon the stars floating above the mountains. With a heavy heart, he said, "I wish I could surrender Panem to the rebels this very moment."

"You'd be assassinated by the war hawks before morning," said Tiberius, "and the war would escalate to nuclear weapons. They've wanted you to them since the beginning."

"War is such a funny word," said Coriolanus. "The dictionary mentions something about conflict by force of arms when war should actually be defined as sanctioned murder. That is all that war is: sanctioned murder. Nearly everyone that dies in war is an innocent, even the soldiers. I'd give my life right now if it would save Panem."

Tiberius stepped closer. "When Thirteen arrives and takes over, do you think that the leader of Thirteen will be a good president?"

Snow shrugged. "Hard to say. We still don't know the person's identity. It all depends if their leader is doing this for self or for country. I fear the worse."

After a long pause, Tiberius turned to leave.

"Mr. Pullo?"

"Yes, sir."

Snow returned to his feet. "Make it quick and painless. Medicate them to lessen their terror."

"Yes, sir."

Coriolanus returned to his roses, feeling as if part of him had just died.

**...**

The president walked with Antonius down a frantic corridor as people jumped out of the way upon recognition of the president. Trying to remain cordial, Coriolanus focused on the doors of the television studio up ahead.

Antonius asked, "Do you think it's necessary to keep doing your daily war broadcasts?" The defense minister lowered his voice to a whisper. "The rebels will probably capture the city center in two, maybe three, days."

"We need to keep the citizens calm. If they panic and start fleeing, they'll just flee into the fighting. We need them to stay in their homes until the end."

Following the president through the doors to the studio, Antonius continued, "Perhaps we should just tell them that the war is lost and to stay put until the rebel leader makes contact?"

"That would cause a worse panic. It would be best if everyone woke in the morning to silence and new leadership."

"We've lost control of the fighting. Most of the Peacekeeper squads are running on autopilot. I'd say the situation has fallen into total chaos."

The president took a seat at the broadcast desk with the Panem flag as backdrop. "The president of Thirteen should have revealed his or herself during the one month lull when they were regrouping. You cannot blame the people for fearing the worse when the enemy is lurking in the shadows. I will keep doing these daily broadcasts to mock their shadowed leader until such person reveals them self to the city, proving to the people that they have nothing to fear."

Two studio stylists approached the president to do a quick makeup application.

"What are you going to tell them today?" asked Antonius.

"I'll let them know about the Mockingjay's death. Perhaps this will quell some of their anxiety and keep them from becoming refugees in the streets. At this point, any bit of good news is better than nothing. Have they found the bodies?"

"No, sir. We have teams searching the rubble now. Television cameras are there, waiting to show the corpses as soon as they are discovered."

The stage director signaled that the live broadcast would begin in 10 seconds. Antonius stepped away, along the stylists, and took his usual position off camera. The director pointed to the president just as the light above the camera lit.

The president began his broadcast by congratulating the Peacekeepers on a masterful job, honoring them for defending their country and stopping the Mockingjay. With Katniss's death, Snow predicted the turning in the tide of the war since the demoralized rebels had no one left to follow.

The president took a moment to stare into the camera, as if looking into the eyes of the faceless stranger responsible for destroying the country. The anger he felt towards this person seethed through his body, but keeping his composure, he continued the broadcast by describing the Mockingjay as a poor, manipulated girl talented with a bow and arrow. "She was not a great thinker, not the mastermind of the rebellion, merely a face plucked from the rabble because she had caught the nation's attention with her fortitude in the Games. But she was necessary, so very necessary, because the rebels have no real leader among them."

The monitors in the studio unexpectedly switched to an image of a middle-aged woman with long grey hair. She introduced herself to Panem as President Alma Coin, identifying herself as the head of the rebellion.

_Finally, _thought Snow, _there you are._ With an intense stare, Snow watched the woman speak, all the while, signaling to the others to let the rebel broadcast play. As his finger nervously began tapping on the desk, something about the woman distressed him. _Coin? Where have I heard that name before?_

President Coin next gave an eulogy for the Mockingjay. The woman praised the girl who survived the Seam and the Hunger Games, and then turned a country of slaves into an army of freedom fighters. "Dead or alive, Katniss Everdeen will remain the face of this rebellion. If ever you waver in your resolve, think of the Mockingjay, and in her you will find the strength you need to rid Panem of its oppressors."

The view on the feed monitor returned to President Snow, showing the man looking to the side, lost in thought. Slowly, Coriolanus turned to face the camera, the name _Coin_ racing through his head. _There is something about that woman?_

Worriedly, Antonius began waving his arms high above his head.

Seeing his defense minister's hand waving, the president cleared his throat and continued, his voice strained by the unexpected events. "Tomorrow morning, when we pull Katniss Everdeen's body from the ashes, we will see exactly who the Mockingjay is. A dead girl who could save no one, not even herself." Snow looked to the stage director and signaled with the nod of his head that he was through.

The feed monitor switch to the Panem Seal and the anthem began to play.

Antonius approached the desk. "Are you okay? That wasn't your normal, _'Citizens_, _don't panic' _closure.

"I panicked." Pressing his lips tight, the president stared down at the surface of the desk, combing his memories. "Her name is so familiar, Antonius. Help me."

Reflecting over the name, Antonius shrugged. "I've never heard of an Alma Coin before." Saying the name aloud triggered a memory. "Wait, wasn't there a Coin during the Dark Days?"

Snow slapped his hand on the desk. "Yes! There was a Coin who helped convince the districts to revolt during the first rebellion. He ran off to hide in Thirteen after they lost the war. Do you know what this means?"

Antonius glumly nodded his head. "There will be no negotiated surrender."

"We lost all hope for a negotiated surrender when the rebels entered the city." Dabbing his lips with his handkerchief, Snow rose from his chair. "This war started by Coin is a personal vendetta. Antonius, call an emergency cabinet meeting. It's time to dissolve the government."

**...**

When Coriolanus entered the cabinet room, everyone rose to their feet, the seriousness of the moment weighing heavily on their faces.

The president sat and delivered his last order. "I, President Coriolanus Snow, am officially announcing the dissolution of Panem's government, effective immediately." Glancing around the table, Snow felt the same sorrow shown by his ministers and aides. "All of you here are released from duty. I advise all of you to proceed to the safe houses that I had you designate a month ago. Remain in your safe houses until well after the fighting has ended. Minutes ago, I sent a message to the rebels, informing them of our unconditional surrender, asking them how they would like us to proceed. Unfortunately, as you can hear outside, the fighting continues. We have not heard back from the rebels and cannot be certain if our message has been received. As often with war, the chaos is out of anyone's control. We project that the Capitol should be fully in rebel hands within a day or two. You and your families may need to remain in your safe houses for up to a week, so make sure you take enough provisions. Keep listening to the radio for announcements from the new government. I'm certain that once the city is safe and secured, they will ask each of you to turn yourselves in. Those of you who may face harsh prosecution have already been warned. The rest of you may end up working for the new government. President Coin will need experienced bureaucrats to get the Capitol back on its feet."

Someone at the table asked, "Mr. President, how can you be certain that some of us will be asked to return?"

Snow licked his lips. "Because, this is how I'd do it if I were to capture the Capitol."

"Mr. President," asked another, "are you going to a safe house?"

Snow slowly shook his head. "I'm the president, and it was my responsibility to keep Panem safe. Sadly, I did not. I will remain in the president's mansion and allow myself to be arrested, to face rebel justice."

The room became deathly still with solemn eyes and quivering chins.

Coriolanus rose from his chair. "It has been an honor serving Panem, and it has been my privilege to work with all of you." The president stepped to the door and opened it. "Time is short. Go now to your safe houses. Take care of your families."

One by one, his cabinet met him at the door for firm handshakes and hugs.

Ashur Magnus was the last of the aides to exit the room. With welling eyes, he hugged the president.

"Remember what I told you, Mr. Magnus. Help the new president to get Panem back on her feet."

"I will, Mr. President." Ashur paused under the doorway, wanting to say more, but his emotions would not allow it.

Coriolanus patted the aide on the shoulder and said, "Off with you, Mr. Magnus. Good luck to you."

"Good luck to you, Sir." Ashur turned and followed the others out the door.

Turning to face the room, Coriolanus found himself alone with Antonius and Vera.

His secretary cleared her throat. "I'm staying with you, Mr. President."

Stepping forward, Coriolanus smiled. "No you're not. We talked about this."

Vera crossed her arms. "I'm not afraid of the rebels."

At the sound of a knock, everyone turned to find the former head of mansion security standing in the doorway.

"Ah, George," said the President. "Your timing is impeccable."

"Mr. President." George stepped into the room.

"Vera is ready to go." The president gently took Vera's arm and passed her to George.

"What is this?" asked Vera.

"George has set up a safe house for Julia and you. He will be your bodyguard until it is safe to turn yourself in to the new government."

"I refuse to go." Vera pulled her arm away. "My place is at your side."

"I'm asking as a friend; I need you to be safe. You understand me as well as Julia, and only you two will be able to set my record straight in the future. Only you two can tell the people how much I loved Panem and how hard I worked to protect it. I'm counting on you to do this for me."

With tears in her eyes, Vera embraced the president.

Coriolanus whispered into her ear, "When they question you, tell them everything that you know. You can tell them about Julia; don't be afraid to expose my dirty laundry. I'm not afraid of the truth."

Vera began to sob.

"I've sent money and gold with George," continued the president. "Some of it is yours, the retirement you deserve. George will help you launder it when it is safe to access. And like we discussed before, when things have calmed, I need you to tell my daughter and granddaughter how much I loved them." Coriolanus gently pushed Vera away. "As my friend, can you do this for me?"

"Yes." Dabbing her eyes with a tissue, she said, "I love you."

"I love you too." His face reddened with emotion, he gestured to George.

The man offered Vera his arm and proceeded to escort the secretary from the room. Pausing at the door, the senior Peacekeeper looked back. "Good luck, Mr, President."

"Thank you, George. Tell Julia..."

George nodded. "She knows, and I know she feels the same for you."

Coriolanus inhaled deeply, lifting his hand in a simple wave goodbye. He then watched his two friends pass through the door and out of sight.

Antonius stepped up the president and offered his hand for a firm handshake. "Did Tiberius's surgery go well?"

"I believe so," replied the president. "Antonius, why didn't you do the plastic surgery?"

"I'm too old; besides, I'm kind of used to this face. It's gotten me this far. I am a little surprised that Tiberius went under the knife, considering his age."

"True," said Snow, "but he's got some good years ahead of him, that is, if they don't find him." Coriolanus returned to his chair, the sleep deprivation and exhaustion evident in his face and posture.

Antonius took a seat at the table. "Did they tweak his DNA?"

"No. He's only doing his face and fingerprints. He did not want to risk the side effects of altering his DNA. He said that he'd keep a very low profile, which should keep his DNA from registering in a database."

"I hope he's right."

Coriolanus turned his head to the distant sound of an explosion that resonated through the mansion's walls. He could now hear the various thumps and cracks of war as the battles raged closer. "What are you going to do, Antonius?"

"Go to my safe house until the public can travel again. I'll sneak out to live in the mountains, somewhere where they won't think to search."

"Aren't you going to miss the Capitol?"

Antonius smiled. "Not really. All I need is a good sleeping bag and a river to fish. A man doesn't need much more than that."

Looking down at his spotted handkerchief, Coriolanus smiled. "That actually sounds nice."

"What do you have planned, Coriolanus?"

The president looked up at the sound of his name. "Wait here until the rebels arrest me."

With a heavy brow, Antonius said, "Don't wait in your office or indoor garden. Stray bullets might pass through the walls. Go to a room in the center of the mansion and leave the door open with all the lights on, that is, if the power doesn't go out. Take a couple lanterns just in case. The soldiers will be tense and trigger-happy, so remain calm with your hands in clear view. You don't want to be shot accidently."

Snow sighed. "An accidental shooting might be the most merciful." Folding his handkerchief in half, Coriolanus noticed the tremor growing in his hands. "I'll wait in the library."

"That's a good location."

"I need to write a letter to President Coin. I have some advice that might aid Panem's recovery. I'm not sure if a vengeful president will be open to it, but I'll present my ideas to her anyway."

After a long pause—with nothing more to be said, Coriolanus rose to his feet and held out his hand. "Good luck, Antonius, my friend."

"Good luck, Coriolanus." Antonius swallowed hard, turned, and walked out of cabinet room.

**...**

In his library, Coriolanus paced around the large center table, his shakily penned letter to President Coin, laying in plain view. When another stun grenade exploded on the floor below, he paused to listen to the faint shouts. Returning to pacing, Snow could hear the rebels' advancement through the lower floors as they methodically searched room to room.

Sincerely, he hoped that the brave Peacekeepers who volunteered to stay behind were unharmed. _Did they surrender without a fight, as I ordered?_ he thought. _Did they tell the rebels that I would be waiting in the library?_

Heavy footsteps echoed from down the hall, indicating the rebels' arrival to his floor. Loud call outs by strained voices resonated throughout the mansion as rooms were pronounced clear. The thumping of boots and the hard opening of doors progressively grew louder. Enveloped in a cold sweat, Coriolanus knew that the rebels were only seconds away.

Coriolanus positioned himself before the table and raised his arms for surrender. He noticed his open dress jacket and lowered his hands to fasten it, finding that his trembling fingers could not work the buttons.

Outside in the hallway, the heavy footsteps stopped before the door. Swiftly appearing through the doorway, the barrel of a gun preceded the strained, exhausted face of a young man in a tattered uniform.

Terrified beyond speaking, Coriolanus stood frozen as he watched the young man take aim at his chest.


	9. The Student

**27 The Student**

When Coriolanus heard footsteps descending the dank narrow stairs that led into the presidential vault—turned prison cell, he sat up in his cot and gingerly swung his legs over to the floor. Hampered by his wrist and ankle shackles, he rubbed his wrists as he studied the two emotionless District 13 guards posted in the room as their attention turned towards the steps.

When the two guards recognized the visitor, they snapped to attention.

Descending out of the shadows, stepped President Coin. She glanced down at Snow's shackles and smiled. "Hello, President Snow. It's so nice that we can finally meet in person. How are you finding the accommodations?"

Coriolanus raised his arms as far as the shackling would allow. "Could we dispense of these? We all know that I'm not going anywhere."

"Hmm, no." Coin turned in a semicircle, inspecting the dimly lit room. "I'm not worried about your escape. I just don't want to risk you committing suicide before your execu—." A smug smile formed under Coin's contemptuous eyes. "Your trial."

Snow frowned. "I wouldn't have allowed myself to be captured if I had intended to kill myself."

"Yes. But you now have plenty of time to reconsider the idea, and as we all know, thinking is a dangerous activity."

As Coriolanus glared at the woman, he watched her smile grow. "Did you just come here to gloat?"

Coin chuckled as she took a step closer. "Partially. Mostly, I wanted to see the monster in person." Studying Snow more closely, Coin expression turned to one of pure disdain. "I expected someone...taller."

"I expected a man," retorted Coriolanus. "We've just met, but something tells me that not being _the_ _center of attention_ must have been torture for you, having to hide in the shadows until the very end."

Crossing her arms, Coin's lips pressed tight into a strain line.

"But you had to let the rebels think that they were fighting for their freedom, for a better life." Despite the dim lighting of the presidential vault, Coriolanus could see Coin's face redden. "If you had declared yourself the leader from the beginning, the rebels might have been less likely to follow the granddaughter of the man who had set them up to fail 75 years ago."

"You know nothing."

Deciding to push the woman further, Snow asked, "How many soldiers did you lose in the war? Less than 100, less than 50? I know we never captured one. But here I sit, guarded by District Thirteen soldiers while a District Thirteen politician takes credit for the rebel's sacrifice."

"Don't you worry. I promised a certain rebel that she could kill you."

"Who?" asked Snow.

"The Mockingjay."

Snow's posture straightened. "So, she survived the war after all. The girl has tenacity."

Resting her hands on her hips, Coin began staring down her nose at the old man. "You may not appreciate her tenacity now that you have murdered her younger sister."

Coriolanus focus sharpened under a questioning brow. "Her sister is dead?"

"Yes. Your Capitol hovercraft dropped a bomb on a barricaded pen full of children. The Mockingjay's sister ran in to help the wounded when secondary explosives killed her. All anyone is talking about is by what method to execute a murderer of children."

Snow's focus drifted down to the dirty concrete floor. "What was her name? Pricila...Pria...Prim, that was her name, Prim." With clarity of hindsight, the president turned to Coin. "We had no hovercraft. The war had slipped from our control once you entered the city."

"When your hovercraft bombed those children, the fiery explosion almost killed the Mockingjay. She's in the burn unit and is going to be there for quite some time, should she survive. Some are saying that you should meet the same fiery fate by being burned at the stake. Lucky for you, I have a promise to fulfill which may prevent me from doing just that."

Snow glared up at the woman, saying nothing.

"I've promised the Mockingjay that she can kill you—after a fair trial, of course."

Wanting to stand up, Coriolanus found that he lacked the strength. Instead, he defiantly lifted his chin and smiled. "There's a matured Hawthorn tree in the garden. It was my late wife's favorite tree. You might as well hang me there."

One of Coin's eyebrows peaked. "Some say you murdered your wife. Is that true?"

"No. She accidently overdosed on her prescription medication."

"Are you saying that your hands are free of murder?"

Glowering, Snow straightened his back. "No. No president can run a country without getting their hands dirty. Did you kill those children?"

"How much of Finnick Odair's rumors were true?" asked Coin

Coriolanus gave a feign shrug. "Of the other Capitol citizens, I cannot say. Of me, some of it was true. Though, I dispute the accusations of me betraying my friends and allies."

"I'd say Finnick's video was Plutarch's best propaganda video of the war. We still play it due to popular demand."

"Plutarch always had a flare for the melodramatic..." Trailing off on the last word, Snow looked up at Coin with a new realization. "Targeting the innocent was a common idea of Plutarch's. To increase ratings, he claimed that victimization was the best way to keep people's attention, that people tend to see themselves as victims, bonding them to the underdog. If I were to wager a guess, he figured that bombing innocents near the mansion would bolster your takeover, and you approved it." Snow's mouth pulled back into a sneer. "This makes so much sense since you could not have thought of the idea yourself, being that you're the granddaughter of a traitor."

Coin's faced flushed bright red as her hands balled into fists. Taking deep, calming breaths, she glanced back at the two guards staring blankly at the wall before stepping forward with a pointed index finger. "You know nothing about my family. And you apparently don't know the truth about what really happened during the dark days."

"Enlighten me then," said Snow with a smug grin.

"Thirteen only wanted the Capitol to share the power, to help manage the districts from our side of continent."

"There is no sharing of power. You either have it or you don't."

"Well," said a flustered Coin, "we have the power now."

Coriolanus felt as if he was in control, and his smiled showed it. "Thirteen is still nothing but a tiny district buried beneath the ground. The only thing you have accomplished was to pull off a successful coup at the expense of your fellow districts_._ When this is all said and done, you'll have a _true_ uprising on _your _hands."

Snarling, Coin took slow steps as she began to pace back and forth inside the vault. "Where is your defense minister?"

"I don't know. When I disbanded the government, I told everyone not to reveal their safe house locations to me."

"Did this include your _security assistant_? We have quite a few people looking for him."

"Yes," replied Snow.

"How about your whore, Julia Scylla?"

Coriolanus hesitated with his response. Clearing his throat, he replied, "My personal therapist was never a government employee, but yes, she was advised to go to a safe house, along with my secretary, Vera Fiducia."

Coin's lips twisted, amused at Coriolanus's response. "Therapist? Nice choice of words."

Looking up, Coriolanus gave Coin a stern look. "Of all the people you are hunting, Julia is the most dangerous. I'd be careful if I were you."

"Most dangerous? Why? How?"

"She knows all the secrets of Panem. She knows more damaging information than a hundred Finnicks."

Coin chuckled at the threat. "She knows nothing of me. I'm not afraid."

"That may be true, but she knows enough of the people you need to rebuild Panem. I bet you've already offered some of my people their old jobs so that they could speed up Panem's recovery. You don't want Julia disrupting that. When she turns herself in, give her a wrist slap of a punishment and then leave her be."

"Perhaps, she's too dangerous to be tried," said Coin.

"She has dead man's switches in place," retorted Coriolanus. "Assassination will not silence her. She's an honorable woman. Play nice with her, and she will reciprocate. Have you read my letter, my recommendations for the new government?"

Coin stopped pacing. "Yes. Some things I've ruled out. Some I'm still considering."

"What have you ruled out?"

"Keeping the debt owed to the Central and Capitol banks. I think it would be best to clear the districts of all debt. It will be good to start anew with a new nation."

"You can't." Snow rose to his feet, his shoulders hunched against his shackling. "It would devastate the recovering economy."

"Says the madman. Reconstruction will provide enough economic growth."

"I'm not mad. I'm a rare president who actually understands economics." With growing frustration, Snow pulled on his chains. "You don't understand economics; do you? This isn't a tiny district government. You cannot tamper with a large established financial system."

"I have economic advisors," said Coin.

"District bean counters or actual Capitol economists?"

"I'm not going to argue about economics with you."

With a condescending tone, Snow said, "I doubt you could."

With a clenched jaw, Coin turned away without further word and slowly ascended the stairs, her feet resonating loudly with each step.

**...**

Two days later, the sound of many footsteps descending the stairs caused Coriolanus to sit up in his cot. Swinging his legs over to the floor, he knew the timing was too soon for a changing of the guards. Emerging from the shadows, three rebels in tattered clothing appeared on the steps.

The first to arrive at the bottom was a tall, athletic woman whose uniform revealed a high level of authority. She handed one of the District 13 guards a small piece of paper. "I'm Commander Paylor. President Coin has ordered that the prisoner be transferred to my care. Report to your commander for further orders."

Glancing at the paper, the guard recognized the signature and nodded to his partner. "The prisoner is yours, Commander." The man passed the shackle keys to one of the rebel guards and promptly departed with his cohort.

Coriolanus studied the two new guards: one male, one female, both gaunt from the war. "I hope you two are more talkative than the last bunch. Couldn't get the time of day out of your predecessors."

Commander Paylor clasped her hands behind her back as she turned to the president. "Mr. President, I am moving you to a new holding location."

"The prison?"

"No, sir. The prison was damaged in the war and won't be operational for a while. I'm moving you to the second level of the mansion."

The news of brighter surroundings caused Coriolanus to straighten. He rose slowly to his feet. "Thank you, Commander."

"I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it for my soldiers." Paylor gave the vault a discerning glance. "The people from District Thirteen may be used to living underground, but we're not."

"Did Coin authorize my move?" asked Snow.

"I haven't told her. She only said that she did not want the people of the districts to think that she and her soldiers were taking credit for winning the war. She thought it best if rebels guarded you throughout your trial."

Coriolanus smiled with the realization that he got under Coin's skin.

Paylor's brow furled. "Something funny, Mr. President?"

"Not really," replied Snow. "Tell me; did you ever see any soldiers from District Thirteen fight alongside your people?"

Free of emotion, Paylor stared at the president for a long moment before shaking her head. "If you please, Mr. President, ascend the steps and proceed to the nearest elevator."

Stepping forward, the president grimaced in pain when the short shackle tightened and chafed his ankles. He proceeded to take short, gingerly steps, but the careful movement did nothing to lessen his discomfort.

"Stop," said Paylor. "Soldiers, remove the ankle shackles."

As one of the soldiers removed the ankle shackles, Coriolanus looked to the commander with a grateful smile. He remained silent, not wanting to spoil a good thing.

When the elevator opened on the second floor, Commander Paylor exited first, leading the others to the new holding cell within the vast mansion. After a couple turns, she came to a stop before a door and unlocked it.

Coriolanus paused and gave the commander a questioning look.

Paylor turned to the man and asked, "Is this not your indoor garden, Mr. President?"

"Yes, but I don't understand."

"It is at my discretion to pick your holding cell. I decided to pick something...less hostile." Paylor passed through the door into a short corridor and then through a set of glass doors that led into the indoor garden.

Following close behind, Coriolanus found his garden just as he had left it days prior.

Paylor gestured to the workbench. "We took the needed precautions and had the tools and other sharp items removed. I figured this would suffice as well as any other room." The commander gestured to the president's ankles. "Secure his feet."

Frowning, Coriolanus asked, "Can we skip the ankle shackles? We both know that I cannot run away. It's pointless."

"I can't afford you trying, Mr. President."

Snow watched as one of the soldiers fiddled with the chains. "Are there lighter ones, at least? Something that won't be so hard on my skin?"

Pondering the question for a moment, Paylor gave a slight nod. "Soldiers, when you have time, try to locate _lighter _shackles."

"Yes, Commander," said the female guard.

"After this," continued Paylor to her soldiers, "go down and retrieve the president's cot. You can set it up by the workbench. I'll watch the president until you return."

"Yes, Commander", replied the male guard.

Once the two guards departed to retrieve the cot from the presidential vault, Coriolanus decided to risk expressing his gratitude. "Though you moved me for the benefit of your soldiers, I'm still grateful for the change of scenery, Commander."

Paylor's eyes sharpened on the man. "Mr. President, why didn't you surrender sooner?"

"Huh?" Coriolanus began rubbing his wrists. "What do you mean?"

"Why did you fight till the end?"

Coriolanus could see the earnest curiosity in the commander's face. "We sent a message of surrender a couple days prior, just after Coin introduced herself, but we got no response. Do you know if the message was received?"

"No. This is the first I've heard of this." Paylor took a seat on a tall stool.

"Who was in charge of the rebels?" asked Snow.

"Me."

"And Coin failed to mention this to you." Coriolanus shuffled his way to a second stool.

"Coin has a habit of withholding information." Stretching her back, Paylor watched from the corner of her eye the president slid onto his stool.

The president tilted his head as he returned her look. "Is this why you brought me to my garden, to question me?"

"A good leader studies and learns from their enemy."

"Very true." A natural smile came to Coriolanus as he began to study his warden. "How did you become a commander?

"Before the war, I taught history to the children in District Eight. I've always been a student of history, especially military history, though my mother thought it morbid. When Thirteen began infiltrating Panem, a rebel group developed in Eight. And since I had a well-known fascination with the wars of ancient America, I was invited to join as an officer."

President Snow leaned forward and asked, "And what were you fighting for, not in general from the rebels' perspective, but from your own individual perspective?"

Paylor's gaze drifted to some nearby roses as she contemplated her answer. "To bring equality to the districts, to lift the heavy restraints put on us. I want to see Panem become more like ancient America during their 50 states period."

"Ah, but you already know that this cannot happen," said Snow. "Good leaders are realist, and I sense you are one, unlike Coin."

"I've been weary of Coin from the first time I met her." Paylor plucked a nearby rose and brought it to her nose. "I also know that the districts can't be equal, it goes against the human natures of greed and lust, but I cannot wrap my mind around the exact reason why we can't be like the ancient Americans."

"You know why. You're almost there."

Spinning the rose between her fingers, Paylor probed her mind. "Because the proclaimed equality of the ancients was more of an illusion than true."

"Yes, and..."

After several seconds of thought, Paylor turned to the president. "Can I have a clue?"

"What about ancient America's districts?" asked Snow.

Pressing her lips together, Paylor looked up at the skylights as the answer came to her. "The third world nations were America's districts."

Like a proud teacher, Snow smiled. "Correct. The 50 states were one large Capitol, and the third world nations were its districts, producing cheap gadgets for the Americans, often in poor working conditions that used child labor. And when did the decline of America start?"

Paylor did not hesitate. "About 50 years after President Eisenhower gave his dire warning at the end of his term."

"And what was the nail in the coffin?" asked Snow.

"When the third world stopped being the third world. When they caught up to the west. America collapsed under its own greed and paranoia, which led to the second civil war."

"Yes. If you want an advance nation, one that leads the world in science and culture, you need districts to support it. It may feel good to dream, but true equality is an impossibility in this cruel world." Snow's smile stretched to his ears. "You know; I haven't had a political discussion like this in ages."

Paylor frowned. "But conditions could be better in the districts."

Back in ancient times, when the third world districts produced cheap toys and gadgets for the western nations, the factories in these countries had to put up nets between the buildings to catch suicide jumpers. The conditions were so mind numbing and tedious, that the workers were killing themselves at an astonishing rate. Let me ask you this: did they ever have to install suicide nets to catch jumpers in District Eight?"

"No." Paylor returned to inspecting the rose.

"Money only stretches so far," said Snow. "And it never stretches far enough to cover greed. It's the hardest thing to manage as president. And since you are a student of political and military science, let me ask another question. What is more valuable: a billion dollars in gold or a billion dollars of national debt?"

Smiling, Paylor gave the president an assured look. "That's easy. The debt is more valuable."

"Yes, but why? Few can ever tell me the why."

"Because debt isn't money; it's indentured work. Some like to think of debt as some sort of financial slavery, but it is more binding to society than to citizens. Debt is an amount of work needed to reach a promised goal, work that keeps the economy moving forward and the people occupied."

The president stared in awe. "I think I'm in love."

Eyeing the man, Paylor crossed her arms. "Don't flirt with me, Mr. President."

"I'm not. Coin could never grasp debt in a million years. I can tell that you truly understand the big picture. My dear, what is your first name?"

"Commander." Standing to leave, Paylor pointed to a glass dome in the ceiling. "We've installed several cameras in this room, so please don't do anything stupid, Mr. President. I don't want to return you to the presidential vault."

Snow slid off his stool and watched Paylor leave. Before she disappeared between the rows of roses, he called out, "Commander."

Paylor turned. "Yes."

"Don't take this as flirting, but I honestly think that you should be president, not Coin. She _is_ the death nail."

Paylor gnawed her lip as the pair exchanged telling looks. She then asked, "Would you care for tea after your dinner?"

Smiling with admiration, Snow nodded. "I'd enjoy that very much."

**...**

Days later, Coriolanus sat heavily onto his cot after finishing his dinner and began loosening his tie. He heard the door to his garden open and looked up in expectance of Commander Paylor for their nightly tea.

To the president's surprise, President Coin stepped from between the roses, wearing a twisted smile. "Guilty on all counts. Amazing how quickly your own Capitol citizens have turned on you. I must confess; I was impressed with your composure during the trial."

Coriolanus dropped his tie onto the floor. "It was a show trial, all for Plutark's cameras. There was nothing to be worked up about."

As Coin paraded around the president's cot, her heels echoed loudly on the tiled garden floor. "But still, to suddenly become the most hated man in Panem, that has to be a shock."

Smiling defiantly, Snow shrugged. "Not really, Madam President. I'm sure you'll experience the same turning of affections when your time comes."

"Oh, I don't plan on going anywhere for a long long time." Coin stood directly before the president. "In fact, I know how to keep everyone's affection."

Weighed by exhaustion, Coriolanus rested his elbows on his knees. "You're going to step down as president before they realize your economic incompetence?"

"I'm going to bring back the Hunger Games." Coin stared at the old man, her lips twisting into a victorious sneer. "I'm sure most will be ecstatic to have the return of their beloved Games."

Leaning back, Coriolanus gave Coin a scowling look. "Not the districts."

"They will if the tributes are reaped from the Capitol."

Coriolanus's eyes drifted to the floor as he analyzed the idea. "You won't have the support, even if you give the districts some autonomy."

"I'm not leaving it up to the districts—or the Capitol. I'm going to let the seven surviving victors decide."

"You still don't have the votes."

"I will," said Coin with an air of confidence. "That is, if they are left to choose between two evils with no ability to abstain."

Swallowing, Snow waited with foreboding for further explanation.

"I'm going to tell the victors that we are still debating the punishment for the Capitol. I'll explain that the new government could not come to a decision since many want the complete annihilation of the Capitol populace. I will propose that in lieu of eliminating everyone with Capitol citizenship, we have a final, symbolic Hunger Games, using the children directly related to those who held the most power."

Rocking back and forth, Snow broke out laughing. He shook his head in disbelief and said, "You are an idiot. If they have any sense at all, they will know that you are bluffing. No one, crazy or sane, would ever commit genocide on the Capitol."

"We'll see." With pursed lips, Coin inhaled deeply through her nose. "But if the victors vote for the Games, I'm certain the people will want more than one symbolic year. I wager that some of districts would participate out of tradition. There should be no shortage of those vying for honor of being a _victor_."

"And if things don't go well, you can blame the victors who voted for their return. I should have seen this coming. You're always passing responsibility to others: letting the rebels fight your war, connecting the return of the Games to the victors. Snow rose to his feet. "Having the Mockingjay be my executioner."

"I promised the Mockingjay your life," said Coin, her face flushed red.

"Rumor has it that you tried to kill the Mockingjay. Why else send the homicidal Peeta Mellark to her squad."

"Homicidal thanks to you. Did you program him to only kill Katniss or did you hope he'd kill me too?"

Snow's hands pulled against his shackles. "My man tried to program him for you, but you were too busy cowering in the shadows to allow us proper programming."

"You're a monster," said Coin through gritted teeth.

"We both are!" Snow plopped down onto his cot with a heavy sigh. "I know you and Plutarch killed her sister, so don't think you're superior to me. All presidents sell their souls in exchange for power. Do you deny it?"

Coin took a step back. "I'm done with you. The doctors think that the Mockingjay should be ready for your execution in a couple days, so you better prepare yourself." Feeling less satisfied than when she arrived, the madam president turned and swiftly departed.

Reaching for his handkerchief, Snow patted his lips to discover fresh blood. His health failing, his throat continually burned from the scarring and stress. He looked up at one of the security cameras installed in his garden with the hope that his student had been watching.


	10. The Legacy

**28 The Legacy**

When Coriolanus heard the glass doors to his garden opened, he looked up from his stool in nervous anticipation of the visitor. Usually the entrant turned out to be Commander Paylor, but this never lessened his fear. When the outline of the Mockingjay became visible through a thinned out section of roses, the president's pulse quickened. _Is she here to kill me—in my garden?_

To his amazement, he watched Katniss stop before a section of Devil's Roses where she reached for pruning shears on a nearby shelf. Fearing his imminent death, Coriolanus watched the girl raise the shears to the stem of a select rose. He took a deep calming breath and said, "That's a nice one."

Her hand jerked as the shears snapped shut, severing the flower's thorny stem.

"The colors are lovely, of course," continued Coriolanus, "but nothing says perfection like white."

Katniss's head turned side-to-side in search of the president before she slowly stepped from around the corner to discover the man. Nervously, she surveyed him, focusing on his shackles.

Coriolanus entwined his fingers around his blood-spotted handkerchief in an attempt to ignore an impending coughing fit. "I was hoping you'd find your way to my quarters. There are so many things we should discuss, but I have a feeling your visit will be brief. So, first things first." Succumbing to stress, the president coughed heavily into his handkerchief. When he removed the cloth from his mouth, his blood stained the cloth more profusely. Seeing Katniss's response to his confinement and illness, he felt more confident that she did not come here to kill him. He cleared his throat and said, "I wanted to tell you how very sorry I am about your sister."

Grimacing, Katniss took a small step back.

"So wasteful, so unnecessary," said Snow in a remorseful tone. "Anyone could see the game was over by that point. In fact, I was just about to issue a second, more public, surrender when they released those parachutes."

The girl's eyes narrowed with seething anger.

"Well, you really didn't think I gave the order, did you? Forget the obvious fact that if I had a working hovercraft at my disposal, I'd have been using it to make an escape. But that aside, what purpose could it have served? We both know I'm not above killing children, but I'm not wasteful. I take life for very specific reasons. And there was no reason for me to destroy a pen full of Capitol children. None at all." Worried about her response, another fit of coughing began, the pain surging from his ribs to his spine with each cough.

Frozen in a defensive pose, the Mockingjay continued to stare at the president, her eyes mixed with hate and fear.

Confident that Katniss was astutely listening to his words, Coriolanus took a labored breath and continued, "However, I must concede it was a masterful move on Coin's part. The idea that I was bombing our own helpless children instantly snapped whatever frail allegiance my people still felt to me. There was no real resistance after that. Did you know it aired live? You can see Plutarch's hand there. And in the parachutes. Well, it's that sort of thinking that you look for in a Head Gamemaker, isn't it?" Snow dabbed the corners of his mouth. "I'm sure he wasn't gunning for your sister, but these things happen."

The girl's eyes began to shift as her mind combed through her memories. With increasing breath, her jaw clenched when it became clear that she had an epiphany.

"My failure," continued Snow, "was being so slow to grasp Coin's plan. To let the Capitol and districts destroy one another, and then step in to take power with Thirteen barely scratched. Make no mistake, she was intending to take my place right from the beginning. I shouldn't be surprised. After all, it was Thirteen that started the rebellion that led to the Dark Days, and then abandoned the rest of the districts when the tide turned against it. But I wasn't watching Coin. I was watching you, Mockingjay. And you were watching me. I'm afraid we have both been played for fools."

Swallowing, Katniss said with a raspy voice, "I don't believe you."

Snow shook his head in mock disappointment. "Oh, my dear Miss Everdeen. I thought we had agreed not to lie to each other."

Slowly, confusion seemed to replace the anger in her general expression, but the hatred she felt for the man never wavered from her eyes. Glaring at him, she slowly turned away and departed from sight through the rows of roses.

Moments later, Commander Paylor entered the garden, carrying a tray of tea. She gave Coriolanus a questioning look. "What did you tell her?"

The president shrugged. "The truth. I couldn't have made up a more damning lie."

"Do you think it will work?" Paylor stepped forward with the tea.

"It may," replied the president. "She's scarred, but there is still enough of that sane, rebellious girl in there. If true vengeance for her sister's murder is in her heart, she'll connect the dots."

The commander set the tray on a small rolling table before reaching into her pocket for a set of keys.

Coriolanus held up his arms and watched as Paylor unlocked his manacles. "Thank you, my dear."

"Don't call me _dear._" The commander set the manacles on the floor before taking a seat on a stool opposite the small table.

The president began pouring tea. "I'm sorry, _Commander._ I did not mean to offend, but I don't see you as my enemy. I never saw the rebels as my enemy. Coin on the other hand…. It was damn smart of her to hide in the shadows."

Paylor added cream to her tea, passing the container to the president. "You don't hate me? I'll have to escort you to your execution?"

"I don't hate you; I've been blessed to meet you. Of course, I'd prefer to exit this world surrounded by friends, but death ultimately decides." Coriolanus reached for the sugar.

Stirring her tea, Paylor frowned. "You shouldn't say that too loud; besides, I doubt they will let any of your friends say goodbye when..." Paylor set her spoon aside. "I'm just saying that don't expect to see anyone during your final moments."

"Oh, I don't know. From what I hear from you, Coin is already staffing her cabinet with some of my former compatriots."

"They've all turned on you."

"As they openly should." Snow sipped his tea. "As I would if I were in their predicament."

Commander Pallor's face became sullen. "Rumor has it that Coin will authorize your execution in a day or two since the Mockingjay is up and about."

"Lucky for us Miss Everdeen finally wandered to my garden."

Nodding, Paylor took a sip of her tea. "I was beginning to think that I'd have to drag her here myself."

"Will your guards keep the news of Miss Everdeen's visit from reaching Coin?"

With a faint smile, Paylor said, "They won't tell a soul. I trust my soldiers wholeheartedly."

"Good. Her visit only needs to be kept secret until they execute me." Taking a nervous breath, the president began coughing. The fit bent him over as he hacked into his handkerchief. In search of his inhaler, Coriolanus found it on the lower ledge of the rolling table and promptly inhaled a couple puffs that had immediate effect. Catching his breath, he dabbed at his lips and then inspected the blood. "My dear, even if they stay my execution, I sense that my time is running short."

Paylor gave him a disapproving look.

The president smiled guiltily. "Sorry, _Commander_."

Setting her teacup down, Paylor folded her hands in her lap. "Call me Lucretia."

Coriolanus met her gaze and smiled wholeheartedly. "Lucretia, such a lovely name. Well, Lucretia; since my time is short, is my pupil ready for her next lesson?"

With an enthusiastic smile, Paylor said, "I am."

**...**

The next morning, Coriolanus could hear the growing noise of a crowd outside the presidential mansion. From his windows in the garden, he presumed that the city circle had to be nearly full.

Not long after, the glass doors opened to his garden, and President Coin appeared through the rows of roses with Commander Paylor close behind. In the madam president's hands, she carried the Devil's Rose that Katniss had collected the day before. Coin's stoic face could not hide the faint hint of joy welling inside her. "Mr. President, it's time. You have about 30 minutes to say your prayers, to ask God for forgiveness."

Swallowing, Coriolanus felt his throat tighten. The taste of blood filled his mouth as he fought the urge to vomit. He rose slowly from his stool, squeezing the handkerchief in his manacled hands. "If God is angry at me for trying to keep Panem whole, I can't imagine the punishment that awaits you for tricking us into killing each other for your benefit. You lack the talent to run this country. It's not the little underground commune that you're used to."

Twisting the rose slowly between her fingers, Coin's vindictive smile revealed itself as she stepped forward. "I'm sure I'll manage. I'm a quick learner."

"And I'm a judge of character," said Snow. "I doubt you'll last a year."

Smelling the rose, Coin eyed her enemy. "Commander, please help the president with his dress jacket."

Stepping forward, Paylor approached the president and removed his wrists manacles. She next assisted Coriolanus into his presidential jacket, helping him with the buttons. When she reapplied the manacles, she exchanged a look with the man, her lips pressed tight, her emotions suppressed.

Coin held up the rose. "Your executioner requested that you wear this over your heart." She approached Coriolanus and inserted the rose into his lapel. Studying the placement, she said, "Hmm, it's not directly over your heart—that is if you have one—but I'm sure the Mockingjay will find the mark."

Coriolanus swallowed. "I'm sure she will."

Turning to leave, President Coin stopped with a raised a finger. "Oh, I almost forgot. How silly of me. I'm also to inform you that your granddaughter will have the honor of competing in the first annual _Capitol _Hunger Games."

With a heavy sigh, Coriolanus said, "So the victors fell for your trick. How did the Mockingjay vote?"

"She voted yes."

Recalling Coin's words, Snow's brow narrowed. "Did you say _annual_? Did they also agree to this?"

"Hmm, did I?" Coin smiled. "No matter how hard we try to pacify ourselves, humans need an outlet for violence. It runs through our blood, does it not? And I see no reason not to open up the Games to all of Panem, to volunteers, of course. It shouldn't be hard to come up with 24...28 volunteers."

"You know not what you're doing," said a distraught Snow. "You're not going to change anything. You haven't won."

"No?" The madam president returned his angry stare. "I have Panem, and I've outlived you. I'd say that I've won." Coin took a step back. "Commander, bring him out in 10 minutes."

"Yes, ma'am," replied Paylor as Coin departed.

Listening to the roars of the crowd outside, Coriolanus could feel every hard thump of his heart. He dabbed his mouth with his spotted handkerchief and said, "My time has come."

Paylor remained silent, simply bowing her head.

"Can you do something for me?" asked Coriolanus.

Paylor looked up with solemn eyes. "What is it?"

"Tell my daughter that I am truly sorry for what happened between us. She will know of what I mean. Also, tell my daughter and granddaughter that I loved them very much, that I was thinking of them at the end. Tell them this in private if possible. I would have written this down, but I didn't want Coin to intercept it."

Paylor nodded. "Okay. I'll forward your messages privately."

"Thank you." Coriolanus began staring out the windows at the Capitol's grey winter skyline. After a couple minutes, his eyes fell on the branches of the bare winter trees of the palace grounds. The ghostly image brought back another memory. "Lucrecia, I have one more request."

Out in the hallway, two of Commander Paylor's soldiers took the president by the arms and began leading the man down the hallway. As they descend the grand staircase, the roar of the crowd indicated that the delegates in attendance were making their appearances on the balcony.

Once on the main floor, Coriolanus heart raced as a cold sweat enveloped his body. As the taste of blood grew in his mouth, the terror of the moment pushed his bowels to the edge of evacuating. _Stay composed, _he thought, but the fear continued to tear at him, mentally and physically.

When they neared the front door, the president's feet staggered, but the firm grip of the guards kept him upright. The double doors opened and the guards began escorting Coriolanus across the terrace to a pole set up for his execution. When the crowds spotted their former president, their roars reverberated off the walls of the presidential mansion to deafening levels.

The president first glanced at the balcony to look one last time at the woman who outsmarted him. He next looked across the terrace at the girl who would soon take his life.

When they reached the pole, he only stood ten yards from the Mockingjay. Coriolanus could easily read her face and thought her mood pensive, not of one who was about to deliver justice. Lastly, he looked out at the crowds and felt disappointed by their exuberance. _Bread and circuses_, he thought.

Paylor pulled out a key and freed Snow's hands. Before he could rub his wrists, the guards bound the president to the pole and took their positions at the edge of the terrace. Giving Coriolanus one last look, Commander Paylor joined her guards, indicating to Katniss that she could proceed.

His pulse throbbing in his ears, Coriolanus felt his chest and throat burn, his muscles quivering uncontrollably. Praying for the Mockingjay's aim to be true, the president licked his lips in an attempt to fight the dryness that made swallowing impossible. He stared at Katniss, trapped in a frozen panic as blood oozed from his chronic throat ulcers and down his throat.

Then, as if someone whispered soothing words into his ear, the terror lifted, affirming that his time had truly come. The fervor roars of crowd faded away as Coriolanus took notice of the cool winter air brushing his face. He fixated on Katniss and saw an innocent pawn on the chessboard, one who turned out to be the most important player. He realized with confidence that she still had a role to play, if not today, someday.

When Katniss drew her bow, Coriolanus breathing stopped in anticipation of the arrival of the arrow, but death did not come. The president coughed from the delay, and blood began to dribble down his chin. Licking his lips, he stared at her with a twisted sort of admiration.

Katniss then raised her bow and released her arrow.

Coriolanus turned his head just in time to see President Coin fall over the balcony railing and land with a loud thump onto the concrete below. Wide eyed, Snow stared at the twisted body, the broken arrow sticking out from Coin's left chest. As the crowd fell silent in shock, he thought, _Clever girl._

With a sudden, heavy cough, Coriolanus's mouth filled with blood. Feeling his life rapidly draining away, he let the blood spew from his mouth, for the volume was too much to swallow. He then began to vomited more blood as the mucosal tears that his doctors had monitoring tore open. Despite this, he did not care. He had outlived Coin, and most importantly, his Panem was safe.

With uncontrolled laughter, Coriolanus exchanged a look with Commander Paylor who had remained where she stood well after her soldiers had run to Coin's aid. Watching Paylor restrain the smile that her eyes betrayed, he knew that everything would be all right.

He looked to the Mockingjay and saw the exhausted satisfaction in her face. With blood foaming at his mouth, he laughed joyously, hoping that the government would be lenient towards the girl on fire. He continued to laugh, knowing—in his heart—that he had won. He had been the best president that he could be, and now, it was time to rest.

Epilogue

Shortly after President Coin's assassination, Commander Paylor won the emergency presidential election. She defeated all the other candidates by a landslide, thanks mostly to her popularity from leading District 8 and subsequent commanding of all rebel forces—not to mention the special advice she received from her predecessor.

During their shared teas, Coriolanus had enjoyed Paylor's immense intelligence and natural leadership abilities, so it was a great relief to learn that "she wouldn't mind being president, someday." Snow taught the rebel commander the special political nuances needed to become elected, to govern a large nation, and most importantly how to remain in office.

Moreover, President Paylor was a devoted student, filling her cabinet with many of Snow's former members. With various financial debts not forgiven and reconstruction a mainstay of the economy, Panem flourished for the decades to come.

Moreover, President Paylor held onto her presidency through many elections until she herself decided to step down.

Though the court verdict was unpopular in District 13, President Paylor led the call for the lenient treatment of Coin's assassin, Katniss Everdeen, who many saw with a sympathetic eye. Diagnosed with posttraumatic stress as a result from being a twice tribute and wounded multiple times in combat, the courts sentenced the Mockingjay to house arrest in District 12.

Once Katniss's trial was resolved, President Paylor passed her first executive ordered, abolishing the Hunger Games.

Of Snow's acquaintances, Presidential Aide Ashur Magnus became the faithful aide to President Paylor, serving with distinction and honor—a rarity amongst political servants—until he retired at the age of 70.

Coriolanus's mistress, Julia Scylla was arrested and tried. The former prostitute was found guilty of pandering Avoxes assigned to her, with a secondary charge of distributing controlled substances. The charges of Avox abuse were nullified by the jury due in part by the favorable written testimony from her freed Avoxes. Compared to other Avox handlers, Julia's Avoxes were well fed and provided for—for they had to be. Sentenced to 5 years, Julia was out in nine months—the wrist slap Coriolanus suggested. Conveniently, the nine months were just long enough for her to write a salacious tell all book, which sold well—though critics found notable seating politicians inconspicuously left out. (Note: More tales of Julia and her Avoxes can read in my fan fiction story that centers around Lavinia, the redheaded Avox girl, called _Endeavoring Essence_.)

As for Head Peacekeeper George, he was waiting at the gates when they released Julia from prison. He remained at her side ever since.

Coriolanus's secretary, Vera Fiducia, retired after the war. She would later write a book that did not praise her former boss—as most political biographies do. She wrote of a flawed man who loved his country, a man who would do anything to keep it flourishing. Well written and factual, the book sold poorly, but that did not worry the trusted secretary, for she lived out her retirement quite comfortably thanks to Coriolanus's nest egg that he had secretly bestowed to her.

Defense Minister Antonius escaped the city and retired to the mountains. Occasionally reported seen by campers, he easily avoided capture over a decade of sightings. It is believed—though not confirmed—that the man met his end when an escaped mutated animal from prior Hunger Games stumbled upon his campsite. Though investigators found matching DNA amongst a torn and bloody sleeping bag, Antonius's body was never found.

As for Security Assistant Tiberius Pullo, he disappeared to be never heard from again. As time passed, folklore around Snow's boogieman grew; all of which fed scary campfire stories and kept naughty children from venturing from their beds at night.

After President Snow's death, once peace had fully returned to Panem, President Paylor began fulfilling Coriolanus's final wishes. She privately met with Coriolanus's daughter and granddaughter and passed on his love. The Madam President ensured them that no harm would ever come to the remaining Snow family, that they would never be held responsible for the former president's actions.

Later, President Paylor fulfilled Coriolanus's second wish when she took his urn from government storage. Alone, under a summer moon, Lucretia knelt with hand trowel in the heart of the presidential garden and began digging. Between thick roots, she buried Coriolanus's ashes under the Sycamore tree near the Devil's Roses that eternally bloom.

**The End**

I want to thank you for reading my story. I hope it was as enjoyable to read as it was to write. It's time to take a break from writing, for I have a TON of reading to do. I'm one of those who cannot read and write at the same time. If you catch me writing, slap me up side the head. :-)

As with my other stories, epub and mobi version of this tale will appear on my personal site. (Free of course, I'm too frail for prison.)

Thank you again!

Stu


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